The Love Offensive
by Angelinsydney
Summary: Spoiler Alert: S5, E4. A series of charming, disarming ways Spike wore down Winnie's defenses. How could she resist the perfect guy? My usual offering of love story with a generous dash of humour, thrill and suspense. Pop the champagne, over 20,000 hits now! A new milestone, my friends. Thank you.
1. Flowers for Winnie

**I don't own Flashpoint but I like the idea of Spike and Winnie together. I think they're a match made in heaven.**

**Flowers for Winnie**

Spike 's brain went into computation mode. He momentarily stared at her beautiful brown eyes, assessed the pretty face with perfect white teeth to determine where she was going with this rule.

"_I don't date cops_." She said with a hint of embarrassment. Or was that awkwardness?

He wanted to know if this was just her way of turning down a guy easy. She replied that it was a rule she has set for herself because she needed balance in her life. _Balance?,_ he thought, _Whatever that means?_

He wondered aloud if that rule was one that would go out the window if the perfect guy comes along. Her reply sort of tipped him sideways, She said, _"No. No. The perfect guy just came along." _ His sharp brain picked up the signal, _She's referring to me_. He gave her a tight smile and simply said, "Ok."

Winnie instantly felt a pang of regret as Spike walked away from her desk. She kicked herself mentally but she's been in like with him for so long that she has had time to fantasized about how life would be being with him, in love with him, in like with him, working with him. She's thought of the number of ways he could get hurt on the job and hearing about it first hand as it happened. She didn't trust herself not to dissolve in tears and lose all professionalism.

Spike walked away, gave a friendly nod to Leah who had earlier in the day gave him a bit of a push, "T_here's no upside to keeping it a secret,_" she said. To be honest, he would have asked Winnie out one day. One day. Whenever it might be, probably when he's old and decrepit.

But he didn't walk away sad or hurt. He walked away challenged. He wasn't an ordinary cop by any measure. Not an ordinary man for that matter. _I'll just have to show her_, he thought with a determined smile.

The next day at shift, he casually walked to Winnie's desk and greeted her as per usual to show he didn't in the slightest feel awkward about the "rejection." _Quote, unquote._

"Hey, Winnie," he said. She glanced up at him looking stressed. He could tell it was one of those days. Busy. Madly busy. Far too many hot calls. She's been in since 5am when Sidney called to say he wasn't feeling well, "Could you cover for the remainder of my shift?"

"No problem, I'll be there soon." She arrived 15 minutes later and happily sent Sidney home. Now that she's at the despatcher's desk she wasn't sure if she could pull another 12-hour shift but the overtime pay would be massive so she consoled herself with the thought that she could use the extra money.

From 9am, however, _Maximus_ must have _unleashed hell_ because it was one hot call after another. Mid-day, members of Team One started to trickle in. Spike being first to arrived.

Winnie looked up at the source of the voice she always liked to hear, "Hey," she said. Spike sensed she was not her usual self. "Busy, huh?"

"Super," she replied. Spike walked to the locker room with a singular thought, _Winnie needs cheering u_p. _What can I do? Ah flowers. Ladies love flowers. I know she likes orchids. _As he changed from civvy into his uniform his thought remained on Winnie. _Oh, but orchids needs a lot of tender loving care, and she works long hours. She won't be able to look after it. Might even upset her if it dies in her apartment._

After a couple of minutes thinking about it, Spike sparked up, "Brilliant," he said to himself. He went away for a bit. When he came back round to her desk, Winnie promptly said in exasperation on his approach, "Not you, too. I'm **tired **of people asking me if there's anything wrong. There's nothing wrong ok. I'm just tired."

**"**No, that's not why I'm here," he said beaming. "Did you get the flowers I sent you?"

Winnie's eyebrow went up, "No. No flowers. No deliveries."

**"**It's in your inbox.

**"**In my inbox?"

**"**Yeah. I know you like orchids. But you work long hours and may not have the time to look after it so I sent it to your inbox instead."

Winnie eyed Spike suspiciously, opened her email, and there it was...an attachment. An arrangement of beautiful Canadian orchids.

Spike came around to her side,"Here, it can be your screen saver so you can see it everyday." He looked at her and beamed proudly but….. Winnie?

Winnie felt a bit of her resistance came off. She closed her eyes and thought, _If he keeps this up, I'm in serious trouble._


	2. A Teddy Bear for Winnie

**Teddy Bear for Winnie**

Everyday that they worked together, Winnie was becoming acutely aware how seriously in trouble she was. She was treading in unknown territory. She's never met anyone like Michaelangelo "Spike" Scarlatti. But then, who has?

It would be really easy to keep saying "No" to someone annoying. Or someone presumptuous. Or someone infantile. Or someone aggressive. But Spike was none of the above. He's at a point in his life where he was comfortable in his own skin; and played his card by being himself.

One blustery fall day, Team One attended to a hot call involving an attempted kidnapping that turned death-defying when the kidnapper tossed the 18-month toddler out the window in an effort to escape apprehension. Spike was there at the right spot to catch the baby. But catching a living being wasn't like catching a ball, one couldn't simply do it any which way.

To those who witnessed it, it all looked so easy. But there wasn't anything simple about that selfless act. Spike had to make a snap decision, calculating in his head impact, angle of fall and weight. He estimated her to weigh around 28 pounds (roughly 14 kilos). He knew as he rushed in to catch her that it was going to either be his arm or catch her the wrong way, which meant she could break her neck_._ Or even cause injury to both of them if he miscalculated.

Winnie remembered the moment clearly. It's indelibly inked in her mind that she could relive it frame by frame. She had her hand in her mouth when Officer Ed Lane climbed out on the second story ledge to cover Sgt Parker as he negotiated with the kidnapper. The Boss was calm, "Give it up, Scott. Please...there's no way out."

The kidnapper though knew they weren't going to shoot him, not when he's clearly unarmed. And not if he dropped the baby on her head. He shouted back at them, "Well, it's your choice then, isn't it? It's her or me," and just like that he let go of the baby.

Spike was nearest the spot where the toddler was going to meet the hard ground, he knew Officers Jules Callaghan and Leah Kearns would instinctively rushed in to catch her and then there would be just a pile of bodies and a dead child. They were all wired that way – selfless. They heard him scream at the top of his lungs in an effort to alert the others to get out of the way. "I've got her. I've got her."

Officer Sam Braddock was on stag at the roof – alert. His blue eyes focused on the kidnapper as he clumsily scaled the building up to the roof. _Guess what_, Sam thought intently, _I'm gonna give you the good news, you bastard_.

Jules and Leah watched from below, "Stay here" said Jules. "I'll cover the west side." Then they all heard Ed say, "Fast is good... Boss, cover the east side, I'll go North. Sam's on the roof."

Ten minutes later, Scott reached the roof and came face-to-face with Sam Braddock's left hook. He dropped on his knees hard. Sam pushed him flat on his belly, placed a knee on the small of his back and cuffed him. The blonde warrior turned off his Comm link for less than two seconds long enough to give Scott, the kidnapper, a sharp thump on the back of the head. Team One heard the sound of the radio being turned back on. They smiled knowingly when Sam delivered the good news, "Subject secure."

Hours later, longer than usual, Team One returned to HQ. Winnie greeted them as the filed in, "Good work today Team." Last to walk in was Sgt Parker. _No Spike? _She desperately wanted to know where Spike was but didn't trust herself not to hold her emotions in check. Jules and Leah spied her from the briefing room. "Hey, Jules. We should tell her, she looks worried."

Callaghan winked at Leah, "Let's let her sweat some more." They laughed wickedly at their own mean strategy but how else, they reckoned, would the pretty young Miss Winnie Camden acknowledge to herself what she truly felt for Spike. There's no two ways about it. Miss Camden would have to admit to it to herself - _sooner or later_.

Winnie's agonising wait ended 15 minutes later when Sgt Greg Parker approached her desk, "Winnie, call the Hospital. Find out if they're done checking Spike over. Thanks." Then the penny dropped; when Spike got on the ambulance, it wasn't just to escort the baby.

She called a special number dedicated for police and other emergency services personnel. The voice on the other line asked if she was the next of kin, she answered truthfully. "No. His listed next of kin is our Boss, Sgt Greg Parker."

"I'm Dr Enmore. Officer Scarlatti's attending orthopaedic surgeon, can I speak with Sgt Parker, please." _Surgeon? What surgeon?_

"Hold on, please." She felt herself enter worry territory. _Breathe in, breathe ou_t, she told herself before patching the call through to Greg, "Boss, Dr Enmore's on the line, he's Spike's attending Orthopaedic Surgeon. He said he needs to speak to you." Parker was alarmed, _Orthopaedic Surgeon? What the hell? _

"Put the call through," he said in his usual even tone. The Medical Specialist and the Boss spoke for a good while. As soon as the discussion ended, he gathered his Team and briefed them on their teammates' condition. "Spike's gonna need urgent surgery to repair a fracture in his right elbow. He fell badly on it when he caught the baby, who by the way is perfectly fine." They clapped and hooted at the news. "She's stayin' overnight and will be discharged tomorrow.

About Spike, the Boss continued, "We didn't know how badly he was hurt... he turned off his Comm Link so we didn't hear him writhe in pain. He must have known there was potential for injury because the paramedic reported that he was biting down on a pen when he climbed into the ambulance."

Sam who was seated beside the door peeped out to see Winnie dab on her eyes. Not knowing what happened to Spike was killing her but it was a choice she could justify to herself, _It was just too awful._ _It's the right decision not to get involved with Spike._ _I mean look at this, how much more awful can it get!?_

She reminded herself, for the umpteenth time that day, that she needed balance in her life. Herself having a police officer for a boyfriend would be like a Nurse and having a doctor boyfriend. _It'll be nothing but diseases and hospital wait list and insurance_. Or being a legal assistant and marrying a lawyer. _It'll be nothing but lawsuits._ She liked nothing of the sort, and she most definitely could do without the worrying. Not that she wasn't worrying now.

Eventually, she admitted to herself that she's definitely, absolutely, freakingly worried but without the upside of being next of kin so she could at least know what the hell was going on. _Ugh! _At any rate, she found out the whole truth when they invited her along to visit Spike after shift. "Tomorrow. He'll be in surgery today and would be out of it," informed Greg Parker.

They went to see him as a group the next day. Jules and Leah hugged him which meant, she supposed, she had to also. Not that she didn't want to. But it felt a little awkward. When it was her turn, he grinned at her - a silly little grin. Leaning down on him she worried he would pick up on how fast her heart was beating. But if he did, he didn't let on. She was suddenly envious of Jules and Leah's easy going, care-free relationship with him. They had _that_ same thing, then he had to ruin it by asking her out. She was annoyed with him but she couldn't fault him for it either. _Ugh,_ she groaned internally.

They bantered and laughed merrily causing Spike to wince in pain every now and then. She stared at the cast that encased his right arm and thought how uncomfortable it must be. Spike watched her intently for a second. She caught his eyes, she instinctively looked down embarrassed at being caught staring. Her eyes went under and up to again catch a glimpse of Spike which the Italian found very sexy indeed.

Three days later, Spike was discharged and placed on desk duties which meant bumping into each other a lot. _ It's not a big deal_, she said to herself, repeatedly. Yet she couldn't help but ask him point-blank, in a sweet way of course, "So Spike, when do you think they'll remove your cast?'

"It's that bad, huh. You can't wait to get rid of me," he teased.

"No, no, no." She seemed to be saying this to him a lot. "No, I was just curious."

The Italian beamed at her and said, "Well, I'm goin' to the hospital for a check up next week, first thing Monday. That's your birthday, right?"

"Yeah, how do...?" His eyebrows went up and she laughed, "You have your ways... of course" she said with a slight tilt of her pretty head.

Come Monday Spike was waiting to be seen at Hospital when he chanced upon a little girl clutching a soft toy. _That's it_, an idea formed in his crowded brain. He Googled for a specialist toy store and found what he was looking for in seconds. He wasn't expected at work today so he could take all the time he needed just to make it so. It had to be perfect.

Winnie was near at the end of her shift when he walked in at HQ, he passed her a bag, "Happy birthday," he said. His smiling face was decorated with two deep craters. "Thanks," she said, "Can I open it now?"

"Up to you."

She sensed everyone was watching by the wayside so she said, "I'll open it when I get home." Spike went round to her side of the desk and gave her an innocent peck on the cheek. Well, she preferred to think it's all innocent.

As soon as she reached her apartment, she hurriedly opened the bag. She was momentarily stunned, then she let out a delighted giggle. It was a teddy bear in cop's uniform with a bandaged right arm. A card was pinned to it with the words, "Hug by proxy." She stood in the middle of her living room, and felt her resolve to not date a cop melt like a glacier in global warming condition. She was keenly aware that at the rate it's melting it won't be long before she's swamped.


	3. Ring Tone for Winnie

**Ring Tone for Winnie**

The cast has been removed, but he still needed a sling to stop him aggravating his injury and was restricted to minimal duties. Ten days on and the whole contingent at SRU HQ was starting to suffer right along with Spike Scarlatti. When the Techie was happy everyone's happy; but when he's miserable everyone just want to tear their hair out. Ed Lane made a comment to the Team that Spike "makes for an ideal shooting target. He's an absolute pain in the ass; constantly moaning about being bored".

"Look who's talking?" replied Jules. "But let's face it… we're all like that when we're bored."

"Speak for yourself," said Sam which promptly earned a mocked kick in the shin.

Ed palmed the problem off the Greg, "What's the solution here Boss?"

Parker shrugged, "I'll speak to him." He went in search of Spike and found him in the Gym, "Scarlatti, Briefing Room One."

The Techie had been running on the treadmill for a good hour. He grabbed a towel, patted himself dry and ambled after Parker. He sat on the table on one thigh, "Hey Boss, what's up?"

The Boss pointed to a chair across from him with his chin, "Why don't you sit down?"

"Nah, I'm very sweaty," the Techie replied and Parker was amused. "Spike, how ya doin?"

"Good."

The Boss tilted the chair back, "So what did the specialist tell you last time?"

"Not much really. He asked me if I'm still in pain, etc, etc. I told him I'm managing it. He said I'm not allowed any heavy lifting with the right arm for at least six weeks. I've started physical therapy, Boss. Motion exercises." Greg nodded and waited for Spike to continue.

"Full recovery from an olecranon fracture requires lots of work. I exercise my right arm multiple times a day, every day. Dr Enmore said recovering strength often take longer than expected; sometimes, 6 months or more. But he said I'm the best patient he's ever had the pleasure of treating."

The Boss grinned, "I bet he says that to everyone he sees." Spike broke into a smile, "I think so, too."

"So he's not fooling anyone… this Dr Enmore." Parker then paused and scrutinised him closely. Spike thought, _Oh, oh._

"Why don't you stay home and rest? You can't even drive with that arm being held together by a plate and screws. Rest it, and wait till it heals properly."

"Stay home to do what? Watch DVDs 24/7? I'm gonna go crazy if I stay home."

Greg Parker gave him a tight smile, wagged a finger towards him and gave him a stern command. "You wanna be here, fine! But **quit** moaning. That's an order."

He got up to put his files away when his eyes drifted in the direction of the despatcher's desk, he had an inspired thought, "Go help Winnie," he said, "Tell her it's an order."

The Techie suddenly came to life, "Good." He was up and out of the briefing room before Parker could say another word, the Boss sighed and silently prayed that he wouldn't annoy the pretty despatcher to death.

Spike went to shower off his sweaty self. With one arm barely able to move, he dressed up in easy civvy clothes, and slipped his feet into a pair of loafers. Tying laces were out of the question, yet. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw his handsome reflection smile back at him. _Good to go._

He walked towards the despatcher's desk, grabbed a chair on the way, wheeled it next to Winnie who was utterly surprised, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Boss said I should help you," he replied with a killer smile. He plopped himself down on the chair with enthusiasm, adjusted it to his frame and said, "Ok, what do you want me to do?"

Winnie looked at him with a quizzical expression and said, "Seriously?" He nodded energetically. The despatcher got up and said, "Wait here…" she placed her headset on his head and marched off to see the Boss.

She knocked at the door and waited to be acknowledged. "Come in." Parker glanced up from his paper work, "Winnie, it's only temporary. Just to get him out of my hair." They both laughed, the pretty despatcher recovered with a quick witted response, "So now you've dumped him on me so I could lose mine, too?"

The Boss, Negotiator and sometimes flatterer said, "I know you can handle him. You'll be right."

She sighed audibly. "I expect a raise, Boss. Child-minding is not part of my job description. But I'll do it for you." Greg Parker laughed out loud at the cheeky repartee.

As Winnie walked back to her desk she intuited that Spike had done something he wasn't supposed to do. She asked him half accusingly, "Did you do anything while I was away?"

Spike gave her the puppy dog look, one that implied he was hurt by the unjustifiable accusation, "Nope, I've been a good boy."

"I wish I can believe that."

Minutes later came a "hot Call". Out of habit, Spike jumped up to join the Team. Ed turned to him and said, "Where do you think you're going with that?" indicating his street attire. "Look at you. Polo shirt, denim pants, and loafers? How far do you think you can go with those?"

"But I'm ok to be in the Command Truck," he protested. He turned to Sam, "Help me with my vest, quick!"

The Boss sternly told him to go back to Winnie, "There's nothing you can do in the Command Truck you can't do here, Spike."

The Techie responded off the cuff, "Except here I don't have your back, Boss."

Leah tapped him on the shoulder, and turned him around to face her. "We've got it covered, Spike. We've got his back."

And, Jules said, "Besides… before there was Scarlatti, there was Callaghan."

He looked at his Team and said, "Ok. Be careful guys."

Spike sat next to Winnie the whole time and as it turned out they worked very well together. They both knew when to get out of each other's way and when to take the driver's seat.

The incident was resolved without a shot being fired. The subjects were secured and the Team got back in one piece.

"Good job, Officer Scarlatti," Winnie said at the end of shift.

He smiled at her and said, "Good job, Miss Camden. See ya tomorrow."

Winnie reached her apartment to find a note from her flatmate, "Out clubbing… see you in the morning." She was glad her flatmate was out. It meant peace and quiet. She stretched out on the couch, and hugged Officer Teddy Scarlatti. _He's soft and cuddly._ But the peace was broken by a song… _Joe Cocker_?

_You are so beautiful to me_

_You are so beautiful to me_

_Can't you see_

_You're everything I hoped for_

_You're everything I need_

_You are so beautiful to me_

She listened intently. Not moving a muscle, hugging the teddy bear for dear life. She glanced up at the CD player, the dial was on the off position. She stood up to follow the sound but just as suddenly it stopped. _Ok, that's really spooky. _

She sat back down. A minute later, there it was again, Joe Cocker singing "You are so Beautiful." The sound… it was coming out of her purse. She tipped out the contents. It was her mobile phone. She picked it up and there was Spike's bedimpled face on the screen.

She answered it tentatively, "Hello?"

"Hey," he said. "I just wanna say how much I enjoyed working with you today."

She was speechless.

"Ah, tongue tied… that can only be good."

She broke out of the trance_, I have to put my foot down_, so she roused on him half-heartedly, "Don't fiddle with my phone again."

He laughed and said, "What's wrong with that? Now, at least, you know it's me calling." He hanged up and she was left holding her phone close to her heart.

Spike's subtle strategy must have worked because before she knew it she was playing the song on youtube and day-dreaming of Spike.


	4. Lady Bugs for Winnie

_Author's Note: I don't own shares with Nabisco Food Corp or Nutella. They just fitted the story._

**Lady Bugs for Winnie**

Team One was scheduled to go off to the firing range and to the yard for training exercises. Ed Lane came around to her desk to check if there were any messages for them before taking his Team out. "No messages," she said.

"Ok, you know where to find us…"

She just smiled. The Team filed passed her on the way out in gears and in a buoyant mood. Spike trailed at the end looking glum. She felt for him. He wanted to be with them but the arm hasn't completely healed. "How long more?" she asked.

Spike guessed she meant his arm. He looked down on it and said, "Maybe two more months before I get clearance." He went round to sit next to her which was, honestly, nice. She's gotten used to the smell of his after shave and occasionally touching knees with him. He was such a nice fellow to be with. A laugh and a half sort of guy. Cheeky. Bright. And yes, good looking.

But the perfect guy also had his share of quirks and annoying habits.

Since Team One was out on the yard and Team four was out on City patrol, it was an unusually quiet day for SRU. It wasn't long before Spike was showing signs of boredom. He fidgeted and worse still started tapping on the desk. A truly aggravating habit if she's ever seen one.

She watched him closely. It was an unconscious thing, not malicious at all. He was not deliberately trying to annoy her.

She held both his hands to keep them still, looked him in the eyes and said, "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Tapping on the desk," then she slowly released his hands. It happened several times before she cottoned on that holding his hands seems to encourage the behaviour more and more. Her suspicion was proved right when he'd beamed up at her just now and said, "That's nice of you to hold my hands."

Her eyebrows went up. It was certainly a lose-lose situation for her. She realised she's stuck with him for the time being but it didn't mean she had to suffer in silence beside him either. Then she had an inspired thought.

"Spike, you know how some of the files are still in beta and they're taking so much space? Can you transfer them to the hard drive?"

He smiled and said, "Yeah, of course and I suppose it'll make all our jobs easier, too." Her eyes automatically moved to his hands which were about to start tapping the desk again. He caught her reaction and he smiled, "Ok, no tapping. I was just thinking…."

Minutes later he was up on his feet and made a move towards the archive room but not before pinching her cheeks lightly and saying, "Good idea, clever Miss." She rolled her eyes and smiled back at him.

Greg Parker came out of the office and was surprised to see Winnie alone in her cubicle, "You haven't fired him, have you?" The cherubic faced Boss teased. "No, I asked if he could transfer all the files still in Beta into the super computer's hard drive. He went to the archive room and I think he's gonna do it."

Parker was pleased, "Good idea."

Transferring files from Beta to a computer hard drive was child's play. Anyone with rudimentary computer skills could do it but the Police Department had other priorities. It preferred to put its personnel resources on other more pressing matters. So since he's free and on minimal duties, it might as well be him.

With the amount of files that needed to be transferred, it would be repetitive and tedious job; but at the end of it he'd have something to show for all his hard work. The one thing remotely cerebral about the whole business was formulating the best way to search for the information once they're all stored.

Spike quarantined himself in the archive room programming different ways the information could be accessed. He made sure that a whole range of parameters could be used. _By last name. By first name. By date of birth. By maiden name. By date of incident. By previous criminal records_.

With everyone away and Spike sequestered in another room Winnie regrettably missed his company. She was fretting although she refused to admit it to herself. He spent hours in the archive room and when he came out it was only to requisition her for stuff. "Win, do you have coloured pens and a big notepad?"

"Sure, here take these."

At one point, he disappeared into the belly of the archive room for four hours straight without a break. This worried her. She called him on the intercom linked to the archive room, "Spike?"

"Yeah," he replied, sounding busy and immersed in what he was working on.

"You ok?"

There was a momentary pause before he answered, "Why shouldn't I be?" She detected a light teasing chuckle in his voice which made her cringe inwardly.

"I was just wondering if you might actually be sleeping in there instead of working."

"Reeeally? Then you should have said, 'Wakey, wakey'."

"Arrgh," she said.

Spike came out for air around 3pm, "I'm hungry, Winnie. Or you hungry?"

"I had a sandwich earlier," she said. Then she realised the poor guy hasn't eaten. "Would you like something to eat, I have a left-over sandwich… if you like."

He smiled, "I don't refuse anything edible." She gave it to him. He unwrapped it, bit down on the sandwich and gobbled it hungrily. After he swallowed the last bite, he asked, "Is the Boss around?"

"Nope, he's with the Team outside, training exercises."

He nodded, "Be right back."

Spike was gone for half an hour. When he returned he disappeared to the staff canteen and stayed there for some time. He'd gone to the grocery store to get more food into him. A left-over sandwich didn't sustain a grown man. But in the process of doing so he also purchased a box of Ritz biscuit, a small tub of cream cheese, a small jar of Nutella spread, a punnet of cherry tomatoes, some olives and some alfalfa sprouts.

Winnie was taking down notes when Spike appeared in front of her with a food tray. "Lady bugs for you," he said.

She received the tray with both hands. "Oh, wow." Colourful and delightful surprise!

He smeared cream cheese on half a dozen Ritz biscuits. Quartered three cherry tomatoes and placed two on each one to look like lady bug wings. He pitted six olives and placed them nicely on each biscuits to give them the appearance of a lady bug's head. He then put a couple of alfalfa sprouts inside the hollowed olive to give it an antenna. Lastly, he dotted the wings with nutella using a toothpick. Result! Six lady bug biscuits.

He left her standing there with the most alluring look of surprise. He turned round and went back inside the belly of the archive room. _I miss you_, she said to herself.


	5. A Test of Nerve

_Author's Note: Those who are familiar with my style know I like to enhance my love stories with suspense and mystery; and, my suspense and mystery with a love story. Story telling is like cooking, mixing it up a bit spices the flavour. I hope you enjoy this chapter._

**A Test of Nerve**

Project Hard Drive, as Spike came to christen what he was working on, was coming along quite nicely. In a week, he has transferred nearly 20% of the existing files on Beta to the super computer's hard drive. By his calculation, every file would have been converted by the time he was back in cool pants; especially since he managed to secure Dean Parker and Clark Lane's services for free. The two teenagers came after school and supplied youthful energy and verve to HQ. He wasn't sure though how much they were getting done judging by the amount of time they spent mucking around.

Even with the extra help though, the Project was taking a lot of Spike's time and attention, which were both a blessing and a curse for Winnie. She loved his presence yet was threatened by it. But she hated his absence because it made her heart grow fonder. _What the hell do I do?_ It was so frustrating.

After briefing this morning Spike walked passed her on the way to the archive room, waved but didn't stop to banter. She was glad that it was a busy morning or she'd have plenty of time to wrestle with herself thinking about why he didn't stop to chat. And a couple of hours later, a hot call.

"Hot call! Hot call." Sgt Parker walked briskly to her, "Winnie," he didn't need to complete the sentence. She automatically put the phone on speaker.

"This is Jonas Cole with State of the Art security. We have a security breach at one of the residences we are protecting. Listen…" They heard clicking noises, then three voices: one female and two males.

A male voice; overwrought, clearly in a heightened emotional state. "I'm gonna kill you…"

This was following by a terrifying scream, she was pleading with him. "God, no. JACKSON…. No… what have you done?" At the same time another male's voice: gasping and rasping in agony. Then, they heard what sounded like a frenzied, uncontrolled attack. Whatever state of mind Jackson was in, he had lost all control. He was in a blinding rage.

They didn't need to hear anymore. "Feed me on the fly Jonas. Winnie, patch him through." Team One geared up in three minutes and practically flew out the door.

On the drive over to the residence, Jonas told them the home owners were Elizabeth and Peter Philips. "Who's Jackson?"

Jonas replied, "I don't know… wait…"

Then they found out the connection. Jonas who still had ears inside the house explained, "Jackson is the children's biological father. He's accusing Peter of molesting his girls. The mother's denying it, defending her husband. It seems Peter is still alive… barely. I can hear rasping…."

In a life-threatening situation, people have three main reactions: freeze, run or fight. They got the picture. The woman had not run off to save herself. She, for whatever reason, was still in there nervously and desperately trying to reason with the enraged man and failing.

Ed said, "That's not good."

"Not good at all," echoed Sam Braddock.

Team One arrived at the scene within seven minutes of the call, "Jonas… I need ears inside that house… find me a way."

"I can do that easily, but I'd lose you…."

"That's fine… you've done enough to help… thanks Jonas."

"Winnie, find the girls and send unis around to protect them. They're to stay with the girls' in the Principal's Office until further notice." He had to keep the girls secure in case their Dad had plans to abduct them. He was still barricaded inside their residence but there was no telling where this could lead to.

"On it, Boss…" It didn't take long for her to find them. The girls were Sahara and Salina Hope and they attended St Clements School. She did one better and specifically asked for two female Constables to attend to the matter at hand. It was just common sense since the kids' may need a protective arm around them.

Normally it would have been Spike inside the Command Truck but today the equally sharp Constable Jules Callaghan took control of the sophisticated, state of the art security features of the house. "Boss, we have eyes…"

Winnie expelled a deep breath, she liked hearing, "We've got eyes." It meant the Team was on top of things. Team One has control of the situation. She called EMS. _Hopefully Jackson whatever his beef was with Peter Philips would release him into the care of the paramedics._

She stayed focused on the call. At any time, Sgt Parker may ask her to do something for him but she couldn't help glancing at the archive room's door_. He's been in there for over two hours. _She decided to buzzed him via the intercom, "Hey Spike?" There was no answer. _Odd_, she thought. _Could it be that he's had a heart attack in there? Has he slipped and cracked his head?_ She mentally slapped herself for thinking the worse and worrying.

But not hearing a reply back from Spike really spooked her. She forced herself to stay focused on the on-going saga at the Philips' residence. It's now been 20 minutes since Mr Philips was stabbed repeatedly. She heard Jules say that the male victim would bleed to death if they don't get Jackson to release him for medical care ASAP. Luckily, she said, no major artery appeared to have been severed but nevertheless they haven't got all day.

There were so many voices in her ears. There was Ed giving tactical instructions. There was Sam running and then climbing up to the second floor of the house. There was Leah preparing for an explosive entry through the windows. There was Sgt Parker negotiating with Jackson. There was Jules updating everyone of what she's seeing.

Then, suddenly, like an explosion of geyser it escalated. Jules' voice filled her Comm Link, "Boss, he's going for her now. She's running towards the main door, Leah… you might want to go round there and meet her." Instantly, Leah dropped everything and raced to the front of the house. "Jules, how close is she to the door?"

"About 10 feet. He's gonna be on top of her soon." Leah kicked the door open, and fired a shot at Jackson as Elizabeth fell flat on her face. He was on top of her now with a knife poised to enter her back. The shot! It rang loudly in their ears. It seemed everything froze, until they heard Leah audibly breathe out and said, "Subject secure." The bullet had hit Jackson in the shoulder. "He'll live", she said for everyone's benefit.

She heard everyone congratulate Leah, "Good shot, Constable Kearns."

She checked the time. It has flown by. It's now been three hours since Spike went into the archive room. With the situation under control, she decided it was time to check on him again. "Spike, hey, do you need anything?" No answer. _Something's not right. _**BUT** she couldn't leave her post. That would be tantamount to dereliction of duties. As she continued to fret, she became convinced she's not a girlfriend or a wife of a police officer type. _No, I'm not._ She thought of Sophie Lane, _That woman deserves a medal_. **THEN**_, What the heck!_ _I'll check up on him_.

She was about to go to the archive room to check on Spike when she heard Sgt Parker mention her name, "Winnie, call RCMP crime scene unit. And get the unis to take the girls to their Mom. "

"On it, Boss…." she sat back down and tried to ignore the nagging feeling to check on Spike.

Team One prepared to leave the crime scene to RCMP while Winnie busied herself to tie up all the loose ends. She was still speaking to children's services when Team One hauled their sore asses back to HQ. She gave them a smiling welcome and especially gave Leah a hug, "Remind me to not ever be on your bad side, ok?" she said.

"You?" replied Leah, "Never."

After she's made all the calls, she collated the voice tapes for the Boss so he can write up his report. It's now been over four hours and she still hasn't heard from Spike. She tried again. This time she attempted bribery. "Spike, would you like some chocolate?" No answer.

He was never one to refuse chocolates, she thought. By this time she was feeling alarmed but she didn't want to say anything in case there was nothing to it. The hot call done, she decided to go in. _Just in case._

She retrieved an empty water bottle from her drawer, refilled it with water from the water cooler. If they ask what she was doing and where she was going she'd just tell them she's bringing Spike a bottle of water. She tried to act natural.

She opened the door, walked in. No one seemed to be in. "Spike..." she called out softly.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he answered from behind, "Yeah?"

"Don't EVER do that to me again", she said sharply. He rolled his eyes and headed back to his work desk. She followed. She put the water bottle on the table, "I thought you might need something to drink," she said softly.

He turned around, crossed his arms on his chest and said, "So…"

"So… what…" she asked.

"Why have you been checking on me?"

"I wasn't."

"Yes. You. Were. Three times." He raised three fingers. "Spike, are you ok?" He mimicked her.

She felt blood rushed to her face. _This is embarrassing_. "'Cause I thought something might have happened to you. Maybe you've had a heart attack or something."

"Ah, you thought something's happened to me but you kept your nerve, didn't you? You kept yourself focused on that call and acted professional every inch of the way. Very good, Miss Camden." He sat down, opened the bottle and drank it greedily and thirstily.

She gaped at him. She couldn't believe it. _What audacity this man has?_ _ S_he heard him thanked her for the water._ So… was it a test? Was it a test to prove I have nerves of steel? Was it his way of showing me I've got it in me to… be… his lover?_

Spike turned back to look at her, "Anything else you wanna tell me, Miss Camden."

She turned away and said, "Nope… stay here was long as you want." She left him and wondered how long more she could keep this charade up! _Oh God, help me._

She didn't see Spike. He was smiling.


	6. Little Manhattan

_Author's Note: This chapter is a tribute to one of the most beautiful, romantic films of all time: Little Manhattan._

_The collection of DVDs was first mentioned in the story "Remembrances of Lewis" specifically the last two chapters. _

_**Tissue alert! **_

**Little Manhattan**

Spike decided early on that he would court Winnie by being himself.

He wasn't a Gridiron sort of guy. Ruck and muck wasn't his style. Barrelling through solid defences wasn't an option. His approach was more sophisticated. He would do it with flair. He would apply the tricks and tactics of the beautiful game: Football or what they call soccer Stateside. The game of the Azurri. His game.

This courtship between him and her would be of sexy and fancy footwork; of running the ball down the length of the pitch and then faking sideways just as she anticipates his attempt to score a goal. It would be about moving fluidly and then stopping the ball abruptly using only the toes or the heel. It would be about moving forward, while being tightly in control of the ball and then slamming it into the back of the net just when she's tiring of watching his every move. It would be about flying in the air, kicking the ball overhead and flipping his body so he lands on his feet. It would be about scoring **the **goal just when she has lowered her guard and least expected it.

And then he would celebrate by running into the middle of the pitch, sliding down on bended knees, kissing the ground and raising his arms in triumph. Shirtless, too, if she'd have it that way!

He has caught her off guard many times. How often has he rendered her speechless with something he's said or done?

Michaelangelo "Spike" Scarlatti has every reason to feel supremely blest today. He's just been given the best report card by his physiotherapist. His arm was healing well and faster than anticipated. _Back in cool pants soon_.

And then there's the near completion of Project Hard Drive with the able assistance of Clark and Dean. And, of course, there's this beautiful woman he gets to sit next to most days.… _Can it get any better than this?_

So he did a double take when he found Peter in her place. "Where's Winnie?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

"I'm not sure," Peter replied with a smirk, enjoying his obvious disappointment. "Ask the Boss."

Spike went in search of Sgt Parker but spied him huddled with the Team debriefing the previous day's critical incidence. He went to the locker room instead and changed into his Uniform, the first time in nearly four months. He has yet to receive clearance to join the Team on hot calls but he definitely felt like he was back to his old self.

With no Winnie and with the Boss preoccupied, he fetched Babycakes, the bomb sniffing robot, from the workshop and brought it up to the hallway. This was their favourite place to tune up since it's much brighter than the basement. For over an hour, he happily adjusted and fiddled with the controls while Babycakes' caterpillar track whined away to Peter's displeasure.

"Spike, can you please do that somewhere else?"

"What's wrong?" he said.

"The droning is giving me a headache."

Spike smiled. "Ok, it won't be long…. Thirty minutes and we're done."

The Team disbanded just as the Techie was finishing with Babycakes. Sgt Parker approached and teased him about how good he looked in uniform. He grinned, thanked Greg for the compliment then subtly inquired about Winnie.

"She had a bike accident. I understand she fell off and sprained her wrist. What about you?"

He shared his improved medical prognosis, "Won't be long, nearly there." Then he asked Greg, rather uncharacteristically, if he could have the rest of the day off since he's done what he needed to do for the day.

"You're really shouldn't be here anyway. Go! Scoot!" He beamed widely and thanked Parker for the dispensation. After he returned Babycakes in the workshop, he hurriedly changed to his street clothes. It was nearly mid-day.

He was glad he drove to work today. With his right arm improving as it was, driving just became part of his exercise routine. The motion of turning the wheels helping to loosen the tightness in his arm muscle, provided he didn't overextend the arm though.

His first stop was home. To look for a film from the collection of DVDs Lewis Young left him. Lewis who was his best friend and the brother he never had. When Lou bequeathed his film collection to him, he wrote in his Last Will and Testament that he was doing so because "Spike Scarlatti had to laugh again."

He didn't think he could laugh again. Not ever. His best friend's passing was too horrific to contemplate. Stepping on a land mine and being blown up in the middle of Toronto City where peace reigned was just too incomprehensible; too gruesome and too unfair.

Yet he did find happiness and healing. It took some time but he did come to a place of acceptance and less guilt. This he did through his friend's generosity and kindness. He didn't understand it then but he does now. When he first received the DVDs he thought it was a cruel joke. But now… it's from these hundreds of films he sought solace and laughter and catharsis when he needed it.

He found the specific one he was looking for, **Little Manhattan**. He heart leaped, _good to go_.

Next stop was his favourite Italian restaurant. He asked for take-out of his favourite Pasta and a bottle of red wine. He didn't want to over-do it – yet! Today, it's about finesse and subtlety; nothing to rock the boat or cause her to retreat in fright.

He wasn't sure it was the right to do. She might not be home or may not want company. In that case, he would leave the food, the wine and the film for her to enjoy by herself. His presence, he thought, should be optional. Nevertheless, he hoped that his company would be acceptable.

It was 1:30pm by the time he reached her apartment. _She's probably eaten lunch_. He mentally prepared a speech in case_, Hi, I brought you something for dinner_. But no doubt, the words would come out wrong. He decided the less he rehearsed it, the better it would be.

He reached Winnie's apartment and stood undecided by the door. A quote from the movie sprang to mind as he stood there frozen, _"But it wasn't that easy. I guess love never is."_ He repeated it in his head.

Determination replaced indecision, he knocked; tentatively at first and then with purpose. He heard footsteps, someone coming to the door. He took a step back to allow her some personal space.

The door opened slightly. It shut again – abruptly. He knew it was her although he didn't see an inch of her. He knocked again and called out her name softly, "Winnie, aren't you gonna at least receive what I've got for you?"

He heard a sigh. The door opened, "Come in," she said.

He entered and was stunned to see a very angry bruise on the right side of her face, and the length of her right arm as well. "I fell off my bike last night," she said.

"You didn't just fall off your bike…" he said with a tinge of angst.

"Yes and no. I was hit by a car. It's just bruises. That's all. And, a sprained right wrist."

"Concussion?"

"No…. no, concussion. Just my right side."

He gave her a once over. She was wearing sports shorts that showed the purplish discolouration on his legs. He has no doubt along the length of her torso, too. He felt angry for some reason.

Winnie hobbled to the kitchen, "Would you like something to drink?"

"No. Please sit down," he put everything down on the kitchen bench and assisted her back to the couch. That's when he noticed the Teddy Bear, "What did you name him?"

"Teddy," she said smiling.

"How original," he teased. "Here, sit down. I got food." He left her to rest while he busied himself in the kitchen. He returned to the living room and handed her a plate of pasta. "Go ahead, you must be starving." She tucked in slowly, her bruised facial muscle giving her grief with every bite.

Spike joined her in the living room. He observed how much difficulty she was having eating. "Would you like me to get you something easier to chew?"

She shook her head, "This is fine."

He served her wine to compliment the vegetarian lasagne and to help her relaxed. They ate quietly, til Win said, "Spike, I have a rule."

He nodded, "I know, I heard you the first time. You don't date cops. This is not a date. This is a visit. You know, friends visit friends when they're sick or unwell."

"Ok," she said laughing.

"Oh, that reminds me, I've got a movie. Little Manhattan. Have you seen it?"

She shook her head side-to-side, he cracked a smile. "Good, you'll love it."

Spike fed it into the DVD player. Then they were laughing their heads off and that's just the opening sequence. It was, indeed, such a lovely film.

When the movie ended, Spike cleaned up. The visit… it has taken her by surprise. He found her with her guard down and she felt overwhelmed. Part of her didn't want him to leave. The whole damn living room felt like one electrified cauldron. Surely, she thought, they would crackle with kinetic energy if they so much as touch fingertips.

When he was done cleaning, he knelt down in front of her. Gently placed his hands on her knees which caused her to shiver, "Will you be ok alone?"

She inwardly felt stupid saying, "Yeah, I'm ok." But realistically, she reminded herself, what choice has she got?

"Alright," he said. While he intently stared at her, he quoted from the movie, "_Love isn't about ridiculous little words. Love is about grand gestures. Love is about airplanes pulling banners over stadiums, proposals on jumbo-trons, giant words in sky writing. Love is about going that extra mile even if it hurts, letting it all hang out there. Love is about finding courage inside of you that you didn't even know was there._"

She involuntarily teared up. He used his thumbs to dry her tears and said, "When you're ready… cause I am."

He stood to leave because it was important to him to give her an out; a dignified way out so she wouldn't feel awkward around him. If they couldn't be lovers then, at the very least, they would remain very good friends. He wasn't prepared to risk losing her friendship.

But so she knows where his heart truly is, he left her the film. Accidentally on purpose.


	7. Five Senses

**Five Senses**

Dusk covered the City, she was lounging on the couch with a novel when she heard Joe Cocker serenade her with _You are so beautiful to me. _At the first instance she wanted to answer it to hear the caller's voice but stopped herself to listen to the whole chorus. By now she knew when to answer it before it goes to voice mail.

"Hi, beautiful," he said. She didn't know how to reply to the greeting. After his visit this afternoon, she didn't trust herself to string a sentence that would not betray her conflicting emotions so she kept it simple and said, "Hi" back. She heard Spike chuckle.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah… Georgia, that's my flatmate, she's home." The pretty blonde heard her name. She stopped pottering in the kitchen to eavesdrop.

"That's good… I'd hate for you to be alone."

"Thanks."

"Ok, goodnight. Sleep well."

"You too… sleep well."

That's where they ended the briefest of conversation. She was disappointed he didn't say if he was coming to visit again tomorrow. But what did she expect? She gave him the _stop sign_ when he asked her out, then reiterated it today. _Good work, Winnie_.

Georgia spied on Winnie for a minute, and took notice of the melancholic demeanour, "Who was that?"

"Spike… a guy I work with. He's just checking I'm not alone tonight."

Winnie wasn't fooling anyone. Her short, telegraphic answers were dead give-aways. Her flatmate probed easily, "Anyone significant?"

"Ah, no. Just a co-worker."

Georgia laughed, "Sure, sure. Just a co-worker. If you can only see yourself." She teased. "But I'll spare you tonight cos I know you're in pain. But mercy ends when your bruises turn yellowy. Then I want to know ALL the details without the bullshit."

Winnie awarded her a grimacing smile. "Behave yourself or I'll send you back to Vancouver." They've known each other since they were children and only got separated when Georgia's family moved to British Columbia on account of her father's work situation.

"That's supposed to scare me," she replied wide-eyed causing her blue-coloured irises to dance in the light. "Anyway, do you need help to get in the bath?"

Winnie inspected herself; the bruises were swollen and painful. She really must take care to soak in the tub to manage the pain. "Yeah, please."

Georgia retired to her bedroom once Winnie was out of the tub. "Night, night darling," she said and casually kissed the top of her head. "Good night," she said in return.

Winnie went to bed but had difficulty sleeping. She was uncomfortable but that was the least of her problem. There were intrusive thoughts she couldn't get rid of. The harder she tried the more the images clung to her. There's the image of Spike sitting across her laughing his heart out; standing in the kitchen washing up; squatting in front of her with his hands on her knees.

She gave up trying to get some sleep after an hour of tossing and turning. _Little Manhattan_, _I'm pretty sure the DVD is still inside the player. _She padded softly to the living room to get the disc. Georgia has to go to work tomorrow, she didn't think it fair to watch a movie at such ungodly hour. She watched it on her laptop instead so she could use the earphone, lay on her bed and hopefully fall asleep.

It was nine in the morning when she joined the living. Georgia was gone, off to work at a media centre downtown.

She forced herself to walk around the flat, flexing and stretching her aching muscles. Next, she removed the gauze off her wrist and inspected it. After 48 hours, the swelling has gone down slightly. Satisfied with her self-inspection, she ran the water for her lukewarm Epsom salt bath. Then she became aware of someone knocking at the door.

She left the water running, opened the door without thinking. "Do you always open the door without checking?"

"Jules!" She squealed in surprise. "Ah, yeah, I usually check but I wasn't thinking."

"Obviously."

She unceremoniously gave Winnie a large bouquet of flowers, "Get well soon, we miss you at HQ."

"Thank you," she was greatly moved by the offering, then she got out of the way, "Come in."

"I can't. I'm late for shift but we'll drop by soon." Jules reached up to touch her right cheek, "Take care of yourself."

"Thanks." Winnie watched her friend's back until she couldn't see her anymore before closing the door.

She transferred it in a vase, gave it centre stage on the coffee table and admired it. She heard knocking on the door again, she hurried as best she could expecting to see Jules, _She must have forgotten something._ To her surprise, it was Michaelangelo Scarlatti.

"That's an improvement," he said, "You didn't slam the door on me this time."

She looked down, was tongue-tied, then remembered to move side-ways, "Come in."

Spike's eyes fell on the massive bouquet on the coffee table. She didn't know what he thought of it but she wanted him to know it was from SRU. "Jules delivered it just now, in fact, I thought it was her again… oh, never mind."

It was Spike who noticed the bathroom was flooding, he could tell from the sound. "You have a plumbing problem?" he asked with one eyebrow raised. She clutched her chest and said, "Oh, I was preparing my bath…" She tried to rush to the bathroom but Spike was faster.

"It's ok, I got it." He put some stuff down on the kitchen bench to mop up the overflow. But Spike was taking time, she didn't know what was taking so long, curious she checked on him. He was preparing her bath. "Shall I help you in? I won't look, promise."

_God almighty._ She knew right then she didn't need water to drown. She was experiencing sensation-overload, enough to drown her five times over. Eventually, she found her voice, "It's ok, I'll manage."

She went to her room to get her towel and a change of clothes, and was horrified to realise she was still wearing her lacy night gown_. Oh my God_. _Oh my God_. If Spike noticed, he didn't show it. When she came out of her bedroom his back was turned away from her, busily attending to a pumpkin and some other ingredients.

She hastily went to the bathroom, closed the door and gently lowered herself in the foam-filled bath. She could smell lavender in the water. Not long after she immersed herself in it, there was a gentle tap on the door, "Are you in the bath yet?"

"Uhum," she said.

She sensed him enter the bathroom, her stomach twisted in a knot. The light went out; from the corner of her eyes she saw the flickering of candle lights materialised from behind her. It smelt of roses, he placed one by the foot of the tub and another on the vanity. He knelt down close to her, touched her lips with his thumb. Instantly, she felt electricity run riot inside her. And all he said was, "Twenty minutes is best."

He stood to leave then she heard him say from the door, "Call if you need help getting out." _Like hell I would_, she whispered to herself. _But God that was excruciating_.

He busied himself in the kitchen, but he must have been keeping an eye on the clock, "Time's up," he said from behind the bathroom door. "Ok." She unplugged the drain and let the water run out. She finally had to admit defeat when she was unable to find traction with her feet on the slippery bath surface, she just could not efficiently brace herself, not without the use of her right limbs.

He must have guessed. "Coming in," he said, "I promise not to look." He entered with his eyes closed, offered her a hand and pulled her up gently on her feet and over the tub.

"Thanks," she said. He left without a backward glance.

She came out dressed in a sleeveless white sundress, the easiest attire to put on. In the background, Johann Strauss was playing on the CD player. One look at her and he smiled. She guessed why. Her hair must look like an over-used steel wool. She hasn't been able to brush her hair decently since she sprained her right wrist, she will have to ask Georgia to help her.

"Where do you keep your hair brush?"

"In the bathroom."

"I'll get it." He got her to sit on a bar stool. "It's hard when you're right-handed," he said. "Trust me, I know."

He took his time brushing her hair, so she teasingly said, "If you're hoping to straighten it... it's not gonna happen." He returned the brush back to the bathroom.

"Hungry?" he inquired.

"Uhum, what's for lunch chef?"

"Pumpkin soup, with optional yoghurt topping. Bruschetta on the side; and choice of dessert: chocolate cake or ice cream."

She had two helpings of the soup but she passed up on the bruschetta. He encouraged her to dip it in her soup to soften it but she declined. He's already seen her in all her worse glory, bruised face, purple skin, lacy night gown, steel wool hair. The last thing she wanted was to smear herself with pumpkin soup as she's bound to do. _No, thank you_.

When they were done with lunch, they washed the dishes together. He washed, she dried. It felt so... um... so domesticated. She groaned audibly, a release of pent-up confusion and anxiety. He turned to look at her, concerned, "You're hurting?"

She looked into his eyes and thought, _More than you know_. Instead she shook her head dumbly and said, "I'm fine."

He put the last plate unto the dish rack to drip dry. He moved closer to her and brushed his lips ever so lightly on hers. It was such a sudden move on his part. She felt on fire but just as quickly he moved to the living room, sat on the end of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table like he owned the place. He patted the seat next to him, "Come on, lie down and rest."

Her brain must have got washed down the drain because she abided by his suggestion. She laid on her left side, tucked her legs at the knees, used his thigh for a pillow. He opened a book to read. It must be a good book because he was totally engrossed in it, but she noticed something. He touched her lips with his thumb; and it seemed to her in a rather absent-minded manner, circled the outline of her lips. She was enjoying it a little too much so she gripped his hands to stop it.

She's become acutely aware that the battle has been lost. How soon before she acknowledge it was all that remained to be seen. She's felt his touch; tasted his food; smelt his choice fragrances; heard his laughter and his jokes and peeped into his soul. Her five senses were overwhelmed.

It was three in the afternoon when he left but not before reminding her what love is according to little Gabe.


	8. Sixth and Common Sense

_Author's Note: Apartment 7 was first mentioned in a one-shot story Apartment 7, Spike's Own. It is a must read if you want to really enjoy this chapter._

_It's just getting exciting now… my usual serving of thrill and spills._

**Sixth and Common Sense**

Jules and Sam arrived at SRU HQ expecting to see Spike, he was the topic of their conversation on their drive over to work. Not a whisker of Officer Scarlatti graced the hallway of the building yesterday. The Gym, the locker room – it's all too quiet without the Italian. Plus it's not like him to be incommunicado.

As they passed Despatch, Jules beamed at Sid, "Hey everything good?" The tiny one was clearly in a good mood; and it was contagious.

Sid smiled back. "Yup, so far quiet as a church," the male despatcher replied.

Sam was quick to wave his hand and said, "Don't jinx it."

"Spike in?" inquired Jules.

"Nope! Strange huh," said Sid still smiling. "Ask Leah when she gets here… she might know something we don't."

The good-looking couple smiled. Of course, they knew. They all knew. They knew before Spike knew he and Winnie were suited. They knew Winnie has been _in like_ with the Geek with combat skills since forever. So, it was quite a surprise to all of them when the pretty despatcher declined his invite to go out on a date.

The couple wasn't surprised to find Ed already in the Gym. There has been lingering suspicion that the bald eagle actually lived at HQ in secret. _One day,_ Jules said to herself once she'll find the Team Leader's hidey hole.

The conversation turned to the issue of the day, "Spinnie". "What gives?" Sam asked aloud.

Ed, who was already cycling his heart out replied, "Who could fathom the unfathomable depth of a female's mind?" Sam and Ed high-fived, Jules punched them both. "That's because you guys are so shallow you drown in two inches of grey matter."

The blonde took the stationary bicycle next to Ed. Jules started with yoga pose. Leah walked in in the middle of Men vs Women debate, "Hey, what's up guys?" In a few words, Jules briefed her on the current topic. The Haitian sat next to Jules, crossed her legs, taking yoga point from Jules. Leah smiled, "So what started all this?"

"Spike and Winnie," answered Sam.

Leah sparked up. She's a fan of those two, "Yeah… that took me by surprise. I would have thought it was a done deal from the word 'go'."

Ed got off the bicyle, stood with his legs a foot apart, placed his arms on his waist. "Exactly what I'm saying… women… who understands them? Personally, I'm surprise I'm still married. That's probably because I'm hardly home.. cause honestly.… half the time I don't know what's going on inside Soph's head."

"Does she know?" said a familiar voice from behind them. The Boss had walked in on them.

"Oh yeah she knows," said Ed coolly. "Cause apparently, I have this clueless look on my face." They laughed at the revelation, they couldn't picture Clueless Ed. Even funnier, they couldn't imagine him being told off by Soph, cause here at HQ he gets to do the telling off.

"I wonder though if Spike could use a little help with Winnie," said Jules, the Techie's little big sister. If God had granted him a female sibling, she would have to be someone like Jules Callaghan.

Leah smiled. "I don't think he needs help. I think he's got a strategy in play."

Sgt Greg Parker concurred, "That he has... so don't expect to see him today. But kids enough of the Spinnie newscast, we have an assignment… briefing room one. Please." The Boss motioned for all of them to follow him. They walked as one to the room, Jules caught up to Sarge and whispered, "We're a man down… can we take this assignment?" Parker shrugged, "We'll manage."

Winnie had another tough night. Lying prone on her bed at nine in the morning, she dared not move. The room was spinning. Without standing on them, she could tell her legs were wobbly jellos. Her knees felt weak. It was a scary sensation.

The only person she knew who wasn't at work was Spike. At least she hoped he didn't go to work. Everyone else, her brothers and parents included were all gainfully employed. She swallowed her pride and called Spike.

He was coming out the shower when the phone emitted "Hot call, hot call" in Winnie's voice so he was aware of the caller's identity.

"Hey, Miss Camden, what's up?"

Her voice came through hoarse, "Ah, I think I need to go to the doctor, can you take me?"

"What are you feeling?" he asked concerned.

"The room… it's spinning around."

"Say no more," he said. "And don't get up on your own… I'll see you soon."

Her head was throbbing. Spike told her not to get up but she needs to change. She could hardly change in bed, could she? Her bed was soaked with night sweat and she's wearing a hideous pair of mismatched PJs. Pink top and blue bottom! She was convinced if this keeps happening, he'd soon retract his invitation to go out with him, just when she's fallen madly in love. _The world is way too cruel_, she thought.

She sat up in bed, instantly the world around her spun. She fell back supine_. Can't do it_. She laid in surrender, crying. But she had no tears. _That's odd_, she thought. When she supposed her situation couldn't get any worse, she heard someone in her flat. _Oh no, I'm getting robbed too_.

There's a knock on her door, and a voice, "Coming in." It took her a moment to realise it was Spike, "How did you get in?" she asked.

He dug out his set of Swiss Army Knife, "I was told it has many uses." The Techie examined her closely. He crouched down, removed some stray hair off her face. "Tell me, what happened last night?" he said softly.

"Last night… I couldn't sleep. I had a glass of wine to help… that's all."

"Did you have water to drink?"

"A glass. At dinner."

"You're mildly dehydrated," he said. "The human body only has to lose 2% of its normal water volume to suffer the effects of dehydration. In mild cases, like yours, you'll be experiencing unexplained tiredness; irritability, not that you're irritable with me; lack of tears when crying; headache; dry mouth; dizziness when standing due to orthostatic hypotension, and in some cases insomnia." _Ortho hypotension? I better look that up…_

He held her hands, "Did I miss any other symptoms?" She wanted to shake her head but afraid it would detach from her neck. "No, all the above."

"It didn't help that you had wine last night, and not enough water. And not resting enough." He touched the tip of her nose, "Wait here, I'll be back."

She could hear him potter in the kitchen, he returned with a glass of home-made remedy for mild dehydration. "Drink that and don't dare move." He winked at her, "Cute PJs by the way." She wanted to die.

It didn't take long before she started to feel slightly better. The weakness in her knees was gone, she attempted to move her ass off the bed. She held on to a chair when the earth tilted side-ways. She steadied herself before taking another step. Spike was at her bedroom door with a scowl. "I told you not to move."

"I need to go to the toilet."

"Next time ask." He aided her to the bathroom and carried the glass of remedy with him. He left her to sort herself out but kept an ear peeled, _One loud noise_, he said to himself and he'd be in there, _like it or not._

Her mobile phone rang while she was in the loo. Spike went to answer it, "Winnie's phone," he said.

"Spike, is that you?" said the voice.

"Yeah it's Spike, how'd you know it's me?"

"I'll always recognise that voice. Angelica Delaney, Crown Prosecutor. Remember me?"

The Techie smiled, he had consulted with the Crown Prosecution Office countless times. "I remember you, but wow, you amaze me with your voice recognition skills. I don't have that super power. What's up?"

"Well, I want to speak to Winnie, is she free?"

"Ah, she's getting ready. I'll tell her you called," at the same time his brain kicked into gear. _Why's the Crown Prosecutor calling Winnie Camden? _Good question.

"Tell her to call me. It's urgent. I'm glad SRU assigned her a protective detail, that's good." _Protective detail? _His eyes narrowed_. What the hell is going on? _He didn't correct the wrong assumption, admitting that he wasn't close protection would shut him out. He wanted to be in the loop. Retaining a casual demeanour, he asked the Crown Prosecutor, "Do you have an update for me?"

"Well, I suppose it won't hurt to tell you. The case against Scott Packer now rests on her shoulders alone. The other two witnesses can't attend court hearing next week. One's in the hospital with a broken neck. I was told car accident; apparently, a head-on collision. The other had a skiing accident, slammed into a tree on the down slope. He's ok but will be in traction for a while."

They chatted some more, mostly SRU stuff. He just finished talking to Angelica Delaney when Winnie came out looking much better. She has changed into a yellow maxi dress, "Who was that?" she asked innocently.

"Angelica Delaney."

"Oh, did she want me to call back?"

"No. Not really. Ready for breakfast?"

"Yeah… I'm hungry." They ate in silence.

She didn't know what happened. But something's changed. Spike was unnervingly quiet but she could hear his brain ticking loudly. The cogs were spinning_. His eyes_, she was reading this from his eyes. "What's on your mind?"

He looked up, smiled and said, "I think you need fattening up. Come on, eat up and then we're going somewhere."

She nodded minutely, "Where are we going?"

He shook his head side to side. "Eat, no question."

Spike's sixth sense was screaming loudly. It's telling him this woman was in trouble and he better get his ass in gear! The Packer family has clout, money, power and connection. Scott, the only male scion of the media dynasty has been the sole suspect in the murder of his girlfriend, socialite and part-time TV personality Sonia Kruger.

_How did Winnie figure into this? Why hasn't she said anything?_ He has so many questions but his first priority was to get her safe and away. He would quarantine her at Apartment 7. She wouldn't like it one little bit but he's not giving her a choice.

When they were done with breakfast, Spike peeped out the window. He scanned the car park below, _There!_ He spotted it. He's seen the same car parked there two days in a row, but a third time was not lucky at all.

"Are we going yet?" she asked.

"You'll be away for a few days," he said. "Pack a few things."

Her eyes widened, _What?_

"No time to explain. Just do it, NOW." The tone was firm. She's never heard him speak like this before. He took a firm grip of her left arm, not hard but firm. "Please," he said. "Trust me."

She did as she was told. She came out of her bedroom with a small suitcase on wheels. Spike swapped her for it, "Here call Georgia, tell her to find another place for a few days. Tell her not to come home."

"Spike, you're scaring me," She said.

"Scared. Scared is good."

"What should I tell her?"

"Tell her the toilet is clogged and it's a mess. Plumber said it'll take a week to fix." She marvelled at him, how his brain could cook up an excuse like that at short notice….

That's exactly what she said, Georgia replied, "Yuck! What did you eat that clogged the toilet?" she asked cheekily.

"Georgia! You're so gross." While she was chatting with her flatmate, Spike left with her suitcase. A minute later he was back. They left the apartment hand in hand. Curiously, Spike drove to a neighbouring unit block to collect her suitcase. "What did you do that for?"

"Someone's on you. If he sees us with a suitcase, he'd assume I'm taking you somewhere. So I tossed your suitcase over the fence." _How does he know these things?_

"Fasten your seat-belt."

Minutes later, she was lost in her own city. They travelled a maze of side streets, car parks, alley ways until he was sure he has lost their tail. She, however, was not convinced the James Bond stuff was necessary. But if she thought Spike was acting paranoid, it wasn't the half of it.

"Give me your phone." She gave it to him. Waiting for the traffic light to change, he fiddled with her phone and his. He handed them back to her and ordered, "Let me know when it's done." She looked at the devices, there were arrows going back and forth between the two.

"Please you tell me what's going on?"

"When you're safe…" was his short answer.

She looked down at the gadgets, "It's done," she said.

He took her sim card out, tossed it out the window. "Spike," she was horrified. "The details of my life… it's in that chip."

He didn't answer. He turned off her phone and said, "I've cloned them. You'll have them all back." She stared at him and wondered, _What sort of a man are you?_

Half a City trip later he said, "We're here." She recognised it. She couldn't help but smile. _It's such a quirky place._


	9. Sanctuary

**Sanctuary**

Spike carried the suitcase and led her to the second floor apartment. She's been here before with Team One when Super Geek completed his improvements; he invited them to see what he had done, little did they know what awaited them. She recalled being in awe and wondered if she would feel the same seeing it the second time around.

They reached the second floor. Spike punched in the code to the apartment, she heard a soft click. He opened the door, invited her to enter first. The lights came on automatically as soon as she stepped in. She smiled. The sound of music filled the room. Josh Groban was singing the anthemic song, "You Raise Me Up."

The coffee-maker made noises, the aroma of freshly grounded coffee grabbing her attention. It, the machine, was making a cup for its Master.

Spike disappeared into the bedroom with her suitcase, and he came out barefoot. She tried not to notice but she couldn't help it – she noticed every detail about him. He looked nice barefoot and dressed casually in a white T-shirt and white drawstring, ankle-length cotton pants. Her heart skipped a bit and thought she _really _shouldn't have agreed to this arrangement.

She heard him asked, "How do you like your coffee?"

"White.. no sugar." He sipped his cappuchino as he programmed the machine to make another for her.

"What, exactly, am I doing here?" she asked.

He sighed. "We'll have coffee and then we'll talk." Her coffee, white with no sugar, was ready. He served it to her in a plain white ceramic cup and saucer. They drank their caffeine in silence. She just wasn't used to it. She was familiar with the happy, talkative and bouncy Spike. She didn't know this pensive guy. _What on earth happened?_ It was all too puzzling.

He finished his cappuchino, ran his finger around the lip of the cup. "What's your involvement with the Scott Packer's case?"

Her jaw dropped. "How did you know about that?"

"Anjelica Delaney, she told me."

Winnie twisted the fabric of her dress with her ring finger, an obvious sign of anxiety. "Um, well… About six months ago, one of my friends invited me to go to this party. I didn't belong there but she insisted I go. At the party, I found Sonia Kruger in the ladies crying. Her nose was bleeding, her left cheek was swollen. She looked like she was punched in the face. I asked her if there's anything I could do. She said she didn't feel safe and asked if I could stay with her for a while. I stayed."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. Spike gave her a glass of water to drink.

"We sat on the marbled floor in the ladies," she looked down at her dress. "She said Scott, her boyfriend was upset and had struck her. I said she should report it to the police. I offered to go with her. She said thank you but she'd rather not. We talked for, ah… maybe, 15 minutes then one of Packer's minder entered the ladies. He said Scott wanted her. She went with him… reluctantly. I sensed she was apprehensive."

Teardrops stained her yellow dress. "I was one of the last to see her alive. I think I could have done more." Spike understood the "I could have done more feeling" well. He moved closer and pulled her to his chest. She sobbed into his shirt. The poor thing, he thought, has been carrying the weight of guilt that wasn't even hers to carry.

He stroked her hair, she found it soothing. "You ok?" Spike felt her head bob up and down. He released her, went away to the bathroom to get a box of tissues.

"That night, I took photos of her. I said in case she changed her mind about not going to the cops, at least, you know, we have evidence of her injuries that night. I took three; the front, left and right side of her face. I showed them to the police the day after her body was found. The Crown Prosecution's Office called and asked if I'd testify as a witness. I said yes. It was the least I can do. I couldn't help her when she was alive. I could at least do something to get justice for her.

"Angelica said that when Sonia's body was found, they couldn't find the murder weapon at the crime scene. She was strangled with something that may have been a necklace. The photos I took…." Spike got it. "She was wearing a necklace that night."

"Good girl," he said, feeling very proud of her.

Then it was his turn. "Your accident... it wasn't an accident."

"What do you mean?"

"The case against Scott Packer now rest solely on your testimony. The other two witnesses could no longer attend court hearing next week. One's in the hospital with a broken neck, head-on collision. The other had a skiing accident. What are the odds?"

She felt chills go up and down her spine. "Do you think they'll try again?"

"I won't lie to you. They would. You supplied the Prosecution solid evidence and your testimony will very likely nail Scott Parker. You're the only one standing between him and freedom or him and a 25 year stretch in the slammer."

"I'm scared," she said in a little girl's voice. It made her sound so vulnerable.

"Scared is good," he reassured her. "Scared make you careful and smart. Come here." He wrapped her in a protective embrace.

"Can you do it?

"I want to, I want to do it."

He cupped her chin and lifted her face so they were eye-to-eye. "I know you want to. I'm asking, can you?"

"Yes. I can."

"Angelica thinks you've been assigned a protective detail. No one's been assigned because we didn't know the trouble you're in. I'm gonna speak to the Boss. In the meantime, you'll be in **my** protective custody til a formal arrangement can be made. It means no jogging, no walking on your own, no shopping, no calling friends. Til we can move to a safe house, you'll stay with me. Ok? Clear?" She nodded. She felt safe already.

"Will they go after my family?"

"Good question. Depending on how desperate they are, they might." She gasped. "I won't lie to you. We can't protect everyone 24/7. But I'll see what I can do, ok?" She exhaled, not realising she has been holding her breath for some time. No wonder she felt a little faint.

They stood fixed to the ground, locked in an embrace. She became aware of him massaging her back to help her relaxed. Her muscles were so tight they were starting to hurt. Then she became aware Josh Groban was no longer singing. Savage Garden was. _Truly, Madly, Deeply_. He must have become aware of it, too. He led them into a gentle sway, left to right, with the music.

When the song ended he said, "I can hold you forever but I've got work to do." He made for his phone and dialled a number.

She didn't know what to do with herself in this alien space. So she remained in the kitchen, drank her now very tepid coffee. She took one sip, _yuck!_ She made a face, unfortunately just as he turned to see her do it. He smiled broadly.

_Great! Can it get any more wrong!_ _A stupid crunched face to add to the mismatched PJs, to the lacy night gown, to the steel wool hair, to the bruised purple skin. God, do me a favour. Kill me now!_

He continued to speak quietly on the phone as he paced the living floor. Occasionally he'd glance at her which made her feel very nervous. Minutes later, he came over and gave her the phone, "Angelica."

Then it was her turn to speak quietly, pace the living room and occasionally glance at Spike.

When she was done talking to the Prosecutor, he gave her back her cellphone. He had put in a new SIM card, transferred the cloned information to it via Bluetooth, sent a group message to everyone in her contact list advising of her new phone number followed by a request not to share the information with anyone. "If it doesn't display the caller id, don't answer it." She nodded.

"Do you have a Facebook and Twitter account?" She nodded. She's been nodding a lot today, she thought.

"Did you bring your laptop with you?" She nodded. "Let's go get it." He led her to the bedroom to retrieve the device. They returned to the kitchen bench. He powered it up, "Is it password protected?"

"It is." He turned it around so she could type it in, which was very lucky because the password was "1h3artsp1k3" which was essentially Geek-speak for "I love Spike."

He got her to log into her Facebook account then he disabled it. She was mortified, "How will my friends know…. oh!"

"Exactly." He did the same to her Twitter account. "Strictly **NO** social media."

"I'm going to HQ. Make yourself at home. Use my bed. I'll sleep in the couch." She felt terrible and it showed in her face. "Don't worry the couch opens up to a double bed." He winked.

"Make sure you make yourself something to eat." He kissed her on the lips lightly and hurried off. She didn't want him to go.

Somewhere in Rosedale, in the Packer estate, Scott has gone ballistic. His devilishly handsome, chiselled face was hard and his temper flared like fireworks. The idiots he assigned to mark Winnie had lost her. _Morons!_ "I want her found. NOW!"

At HQ, Spike had a closed door huddle with Sgt Greg Parker and Officer Ed Lane. They formulated a battle plan. There was one chink in the plan. They agreed that at some point they'd have to hand over the job of protecting Winnie to RCMP Witness Protection staff. Internally, Ed Lane has an issue with it; he didn't like losing control of situation. Parker and Spike both has misgivings about it, too. But the rule is the rule. SRU could hardly be expected to watch over everyone.

That done, Spike went to physio. The time to be slack about his recovery was well and truly over. He returned to HQ afterwards to practice shooting in the firing range.

It was just him and the paper target. He liked the Weaver stance, the two-handed technique in which the dominant hand holds the handgun while the support hand wraps around the dominant hand.

Noise cancelling earphones on, goggles on, his right hand held the MP5, finger on the trigger. Deep breathe, he raised his arms and assumed the position. The right arm's elbow was nearly straight while the support elbow was bent straight down. He positioned his feet in a walking stance, with the off-side foot ahead of the strong-side foot.

Being a right-handed person, his right foot angled out to approximately forty-five degrees to the side and to the rear at shoulder length. His upper torso leaned forward at the hips, the shoulders just over his forward foot. And fired!

He scored 90%. Not bad considering he's been off the firing range for three months_. _ He intended to score 95% tomorrow; 97% after that; and he didn't plan to miss if someone so much as touch Miss Camden's hair.

The thugs went off. They had no idea where to begin looking for Winnie. They could hardly go to the police to make inquiries or dare watch the SRU HQ car park where she worked, that would be suicidal.

But…. they have a photo of Spike…. They could ask around. If they could get him, they could get to Winnie!


	10. Introduction to Mr Morse

_Author's Note: As a fan fic writer, I take research seriously. Everything you'll read will be based on the truth. With respect to Spike Scarlatti's anonymity please view a youtube video on this subject: __**Bomb Disposal Exercises at 19 Wing Comox. **_

_Further, you can read about Spike becoming a CSIS consultant in the one-shot story called "Sealed, Never to be Opened." If you haven't read it yet, please do so before starting this. It will only take you less than one minute to read – it'll add to your enjoyment of this chapter._

_Enjoy!_

**An Introduction to Mr Morse**

Spike left and heaven knows when he might return. Winnie found herself sequestered in an apartment and left with strict instruction not to go out. _Great._ She walked around inspecting every nook and cranny. There was nothing, absolutely nothing on display except for a framed photo of his Mom. She smiled. They have the same soft facial features and same soft brown eyes.

She found stacks of boxes in one corner of the living room. She stood over them, feet apart, hand on her chin. She debated with herself whether to leave them well alone or open them. _Ah, what the heck, he won't know_. She opened the boxes one after another to find a treasure trove of DVDs. _Finally! Entertainment_. There were so many to choose from, she settled on the classic chick flick, Roman Holiday. _Can't go wrong with Audrey Hepburn_.

She recalled that the television comes down automatically. She sat on the middle couch facing the wall, the TV came down. _Cool._ _Now where do I insert this_? There was a low level storage unit underneath the screen, she went over and slid the door, a DVD player was revealed. She was pleased with herself. She got the TV to come down, it even turned itself on. She got the disc inside the player. But… _How do I make it show the movie?_

_Where's the remote?_ She tried to think like Spike. _He'd want the remote close by,_ she thought. She observed her Dad always hid the control under the cushions_. Maybe it's there_. She lifted the cushion and there it was. There's only one control, there should be two; one for the TV and another for the DVD player. She studied the remote_, its all-in-one_. "So… it controls both."

She experimented. She pressed buttons, but no matter what she pressed all it seemed to do was jump from channel to channel and to white noises. She gave up trying when her blood pressure rose to dangerous levels.

She was truly bored to tears. _I should go to sleep instead_. She went to the bedroom, was about to climb into bed when the CSIS-issued high tech computer suddenly came to life, _Jesus_! It freaked her out. She grabbed a pillow, the quilt and Officer Teddy from her suitcase and left the room quick smart.

She checked the time on her wrist, three pm. It's been three hours since Spike left, she laid on the couch and wished he'd come back soon. She's bored. She was grateful that at least the music was still going. She thought there must be thousands of music in it because it hasn't repeated a song once. _Not once_. _That was like three hours ago._

She looked at his book selection. A massive wall, rows upon rows stacked all the way up to the ceiling. The first five rows were technical and research materials. _Catalysis in Organic Chemistry, A Comprehensive Treatise on Inorganic and Theoretical Chemistry Vol 1 to 16_. Her eyes teared up just reading the book titles. She didn't fancy any of them.

The next two rows above were about computer hacking. She didn't like any of them, too.

The next two above that were about robotics. She didn't like any of them.

The tenth row was about guns, ballistics and trajectory. She didn't like any of them. She craned her neck to see what's on the 11th row but gave up.

Finally, she found some comic books. She brought a handful over to the coffee table, sat on the floor and perused them one by one. Two hours went by. _Gosh, its five_. _I should make something to eat_. She returned the comic books where she found them and hoped they weren't arranged in any particular order. That would be a disaster waiting to happen.

She padded to the kitchen. She searched the fridge and the cupboard and found all she needed to make a vegetable curry. She even found basmati rice in a tin. _Good._ She was happy.

The apartment filled with the aroma of curry spices, the smell wafted to the hallway. Unsure when Spike might return, she decided she'd eat dinner at six, by her lonesome if he's not back by then. Having skipped lunch, she was very hungry.

Beethoven 's Moonlight Sonata came on… she picked up Officer Teddy, closed her eyes, hugged the bear close and they waltzed around the living room. That's how he found her.

Spike watched in amusement as she danced with the bear, barefoot in the living room. When she opened her eyes she found him standing ramrod straight in uniform, his arms across his chest, amusing himself with the sight of her dancing with Teddy. "So this is what you get up to?"

She turned into the colour of beetroot, "How long have you been..? I didn't hear the door click." _Geez, another stupid thing to add to everything else_.

With a twinkle in his eyes, he came near, took Teddy and tossed him/it across the room, "I'm a little jealous of it. May I have this dance?" She could hardly decline. She indicated yes with an embarrassed smile and they danced to Schubert's Serenade.

When the music ended, he complimented her for her cooking, "You haven't tried it yet."

"You can tell when something is good by its aroma," he said.

He let her go and went to the bathroom. She heard the shower and wondered why he was in uniform. He came out wrapped only in a towel. She averted her eyes, it would be bad form to ogle although she was very, very tempted.

"So, what's for dinner?"

He came out dressed in plain white T-shirt, tucked inside a 3/4th length cargo pants. He messed his wet hair with his hands as if he couldn't care less to comb it. He looked good even with unkempt hair. _Heck, he'd look good in a potato sack_. "Vegetable curry and basmati rice."

"A woman after my own heart." She raised her shoulders up, "Shall we eat? I'm hungry."

"So am I." He opened the kitchen cupboard and helped her set the table for two. He disappeared into the second bedroom, came out with a candelabra. He lit the candle, went to a hidden panel, the lights went out in the living area.

She enjoyed the candle-lit dinner. She couldn't recall having such delightful conversation with anyone before. Unfortunately, all good things must end. "It's late," he said. "I need to check something."

She knew he was headed to the bedroom so she stopped him. "Spike, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to sleep on the couch." He thought about it, "Ok." He moved to the middle couch, opened it up and out and it became a double bed. Underneath it was a storage unit. He pulled out a bed sheet, quilt and two pillows. "It's ready."

She collected the stuff she took out of his room and walked with him to his bedroom. He sat in front of his computer. She watched discreetly but he waved her forward. There was only one chair and he was on it so he sat her down on his lap. They watched road traffic and parked cars, "That's outside," she said in disbelief. "Are you allowed to do this?"

"Uhum…. " he pointed out each one. "Hallway downstairs. Hallway outside Apartment 7. Car park. Car park next door to the left. Car park next door to the right. Car park across. Side street. Back street. Main road. It pings the cars' registration number. When a flagged plate number appears, it will report it to SRU. If it has terrorist connections, however remote or vague, it will alert CSIS."

"CSIS?"

"I consult with them."

"With CSIS?" Her eyes ballooned to the size of a good cherry tomato. He pinched her cheeks, "Is it that surprising?"

"No, but when do you have the time?" Super Geek didn't answer.

Her eyes fell a small framed photo of a man in a bomb suit. "Is this you?"

"Uhum."

"When was this taken?"

He shrugged, "Between February and March this year… the time I was away for two weeks."

"That's when you went to bomb disposal exercises at 19 Wing Comox."

"See I knew it, you've been keeping an eye on me," he teased. She smacked his arms. "No, silly, I submitted your leave form to Personnel, remember? Oh, and I watched the news report on youtube. That how I figured out why you're never in the news and why SRU doesn't have a picture of you."

"Bright girl." Changing the topic, "How are you?"

"I'm good. And you?"

"I'm good but I'll feel better if you learn Morse Code."

"Morse Code? Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm not." He got her off him and they went to his library. He found the reference book on the 11th row. "Sit down." He went to the hidden panel again, this time the lights in the living area came back to life.

"From tonight, I'll only speak to you in Morse Code. That's the easiest way to learn it. You'll never know when it might come in handy. If you're in trouble and you have no way to call anyone, you can always ask for help using a mirror, a flashlight, anything."

"You're assuming people would know what I'm saying. You're probably the only one in the entire city who still knows Morse Code."

He laughed, "Thanks for your high regard of me, but you'll be surprised how many cub scouts, boy and girl scouts, people in the military and the police who know it.

"Learning Morse Code is like learning another language. For example, when I hear Italian my brain automatically picks it up. It's the same with Codes. I look at combinations of letters and words… and I can pretty much pick up what kind of code it is. But that comes with practice and dedicated learning."

"But... "

"Humour me, please. If you don't ever use it, you've learned something new." How could she refuse the pleading brown eyes? So she said, "Yeah, ok."

He smiled, "We begin tonight." _Oh dear!_

"Wait… can you tell me about this Apartment and how things work. Please don't do it in Morse Code, it'd be impossible for me to decode it."

He laughed out loud. It sounded so… delightful… in her ears.

"Ok," he took her hands and showed her everything about the Apartment that's so quirky, amazing, clever and full of surprises. _Like the owner_.


	11. The Hunt for Michaelangelo Scarlatti

_Author's Note: I beg you **NOT** to skip the boring bits. The mid-section of this chapter may be boring. But __**please**__ bear with me. We're dealing with Spike here so that's just the way it goes. The latter half of the chapter will be fast and furious so please read while seated. _

_The reference to Echelon II originated with the multi-chapter fan fic called "Weapons of Mass Destruction." I encourage you to read it, if you haven't already, because several characters from that story will be featured in the next few chapters._

_I'd like to thank you all for your support, reviews, kind words and encouragement. _

**The Hunt for Michaelangelo Scarlatti**

Winnie opened her eyes and was surprised that she felt human. _Wow, I slept well_. She didn't think she'd wake up rested considering how much she was panicking about learning Morse Code. She failed to see how on God's earth she'd remember the patterns. It also didn't help knowing he was just next door. _Ugh!_ _I really shouldn't have agreed to this arrangement_.

The wall clock announced the time, six am. The music was still going, this time an Italian aria. _He has eclectic musical taste_. She got up, folded away her bedding and helped herself to a cup of white coffee, no sugar. She looked down on herself and was relieved that she's at least wearing matching PJs this time.

She was surprised to see Spike come out of the shower so early and already ready for work. "Hey," she said.

"Hey" he replied back as he laced up his boots. She was confused with this man. He came home in uniform, yet he's going to work in civilian attire but in his work boots. She was tempted to ask but felt it wasn't her business to know. He must have read her mind, "I'm goin' to the laundromat. Do you have anything you want me to take?"

"There's no washing machine here?"

"Nope… "

"Yeah… ok , um do I get them back tonight? My clothes I mean."

"Uhum." She put two articles in a plastic bag and gave it to him. There's no way she's giving him her undergarments. No way. She can take care of that herself, thank you very much.

"Before I go, I'll set you up with a Morse tutorial." He turned on her laptop, she put in her password. He attached a USB stick to it and installed software for learning Morse code. While waiting for the computer's brain to load it, Spike moved about the kitchen effortlessly to make breakfast for them; at the same time explaining how to learn the code. He was multi-tasking while her brain was having difficulty getting past how gorgeous he was so early in the morning. But she did try to be attentive.

He reached for two bowls, and gave her one. "There's only one key to code proficiency. Copying code must be a thought-free process. It means when you hear a character, you should know, without thinking, what it is. It should be a reflex. In fact, copying more than 10 words per minute (wpm) can only be done by reflex. Above that speed, thought processes are too slow to succeed. Needless to say, slow coding is deadly."

He took out two spoons from the drawer and gave her one. "Most people are told to memorize the characters then building up their speed. When you do it this way, you acquire a "lookup table" mentality, comparing each character you hear with those in the lookup table until you find a match. This process shuts down from overload at about 10 wpm. That's why people experience a plateau at 10 wpm, and don't see any progress for weeks or months."

He set five boxes of different cereals on the kitchen bench. "Those who go beyond 10 wpm do so because, through constant practice, they begin to copy code by reflex instead of by thought. Code training should completely bypass the lookup-table phase and begin by building copying proficiency as a reflex. This was recognized in the 1930s by the German psychologist Ludwig Koch, who devised the most efficient method known for Morse training." He paused, checking she was still following his explanation. She didn't fool him. He smiled. "I'm prattling on, right?"

She smiled back thinking, _Prattle on. I'm loving it even if I'm not understanding any of it._

"Sorry, would you prefer hot breakfast to cereal?"

"No, cereal is fine." She went for the Coco Pops.

He put a bottle of light milk and a carton of full-cream milk on the kitchen bench. "Koch's method is simple, it's about building reflexes. Here's how it works…" He glanced at the laptop to check it was done downloading. The computer was ready. He poured full cream milk into his all bran cereal. She poured light milk into hers.

"You start out by setting up the computer, like so," he fiddled with it, "to send you Morse characters at 20 wpm and at an overall sending speed of at least 15 wpm. Get out your paper and pencil and have the computer start sending – for your first session, only two characters. That's right, only two characters. Copy on paper for five minutes, then stop the machine and compare what you copied with what the machine sent. Count characters and calculate your percentage of correct copy. And then you keep building it up until you know all the characters by reflex."

He looked at her, smiled encouragingly and said, "Not that hard now, huh." She smiled back, _Whatever_.

He ate quickly then he was off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He shouldered a holdall full of laundry, "Don't wait up for me. I'll be late home." He brushed her lips with his. It's becoming a habit but she was powerless to stop it because she didn't want him to stop. She's very confused now because they're not going out, _well we're** NOT** supposed to anyhow, but…. aaahhhh!_

The two thugs spent hours wondering how to find the man in the photo. They could Goggle him if they knew his name which they didn't. The only thing they knew for certain was Spike's motor vehicle plate number. One of them had the idea to check with the Ministry of Transportation on the pretext that they were buying his car. "We'll tell them we wanna make sure the dude owns the car – that it's legit." Brilliant idea! They were pleased with themselves.

Spike had decided not to drive his car to work. He knew it's been compromised. He went to the laundromat on foot, the owner being a family friend and was by now used to Spike taking his laundry outside of business hour.

"Seven in the morning, bloody hell, Mikey." The middle-aged Italian woman said in jest. He repaid her with dimpled smile.

He hailed a cab to work. He figured it won't be long before shits hit the fan and he was well braced for it. And he was right. At 9:15 am, an alert was received at the CSIS' CRIB (Communication, Reconnaissance and Information Bullpen) that a "hit" was made on a certain number plate, the one issued to Maxwell Scarpatti.

Before Spike agreed to sign on as a "consultant" to the intelligence agency he had one condition, on top of a generous stipend, of course. The condition was that his anonymity must be protected at all cost. He asked for his vehicle's plate number to be made out to a fictional character created by CSIS. This forward thinking saved him. The minute an inquiry was made on the vehicle at MOT, it sent a signal to CSIS. The Agency in turn forwarded the alert to Spike. Now he knew without a doubt they were on his tail.

Apartment 7, although his own, was registered in a company name; which nominated another company as Trustee. The layer upon layer of ownership would make it difficult to tie the property to him. He never thought of doing any of this precaution until he was abducted by crooks and made to crack security at the Metro Evidence Depot so they could steal 20 kilograms of uncut heroine scheduled for destruction. There was also the incidence over Echelon II, that's another long story.

He was reading the alert from CSIS when Leah thumped him lightly on the shoulder, "Hey, Spike. How's Win?"

"She's good. She's bored but the hearing is Thursday next week…. six more days. You guys should visit. She needs company."

"Oh," she said, "You're not company enough?

"Hey, Leah, remember she turned me down, ok? So don't start… maybe I should ask you out instead." The Haitian extract laughed, "You'll regret the day. I might say `yes' and then where will you hide your hide?"

They laughed and gossiped some more when the Techie asked Leah, "Constable Kearns, would you like to shoot with me?"

"Sure." They walked to the gun cage, selected their favourite pieces. Sgt Parker watched from a distance and observed that his boy has been more than keen to practice target shooting lately. _Ummm_….

The thugs went away from MOT with a fictitious name, fictitious date of birth, and non-existent address. In all, they spent three hours following up a false trail. Scott Packer called to abuse them, ending it with a threat to get them slit if Winnie wasn't found before Trial date.

They concluded that the only way to find Spike was to clock him at SRU HQ. Fat and thin sat in the car under the tree across HQ. The Geek with combat skills spotted them via a closed circuit camera that scanned the surroundings at SRU. He smiled, _Game on_.

He'll have to be very, very careful finding his way home or he'll lead them straight to Winnie. _That can't happen_. It was nearly lunch, he called to check up on her.

Win had heart palpitations when **Jack of Sesame Street** started singing

_A, You're adorable . . ._

_B, You're so beautiful . . ._

_C, You're a cutie full of charms . . ._

_D, You're a darling and . . ._

_E, You're exciting . . ._

_F, You're a feather in my arms_

She answered it. "Hello?"

"Did you like my song choice?"

She suddenly felt shy, "It's cute."

"Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"You miss me, don't you? Come on, say it, you miss me," he teased.

She laughed, "Go away. I'm learning Morse code."

"See you soon."

"Yeah… ah… please don't be too late."

"See, I know it, you miss me." Then he hanged up.

Spike wasn't cleared for active duties. "Three more weeks, Boss. My arm is really, really good. Just that my doctor is being anal." Parker laughed.

Throughout the day, he monitored Fat and Thin. They haven't moved. He's certain the guys were feeling the pain now. Hungry, probably dehydrated; and most likely feeling very stressed. He let them stew.

Since he didn't drive to work, Spike called a Taxi company to send a cab. He asked for a specific guy, one he trusted and who used to be copper until he was injured in the line of duty. At 5pm, he left the building in white T-shirt, white drawstring cotton pants and a pair of loafers; carrying with him a reversible canvas bag.

"Hey, Barry, how are you?" he said as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Good, Spikey. Long time, no see. Your car in the garage?"

"Nope. See that car over there with two good-looking thugs," he said in sarcasm, "They're after me. They've been on stag for 10 hours. I need to lose them."

"No problemo, leave it with me." Barry stepped on it and the two thugs followed. After a few minutes, they were lost in their own city. The former undercover detective turned right and left and circled around every available avenues while he and Michaelangelo enjoyed a good catching up.

Barry lost their tail ten minutes into the chase, nevertheless Spike asked Barry to drive all the way to his mother's old house, which they hadn't owned for over a year. That's in case the thugs had in mind to question Barry, the former cop wouldn't know where he really lived.

He paid Barry the full fare plus a hefty tip for "saving my ass." He made it seemed like he still live there by going down the garden path. Then he called a different Taxi company and asked to be sent a cab. He walked 300 meters to the extraction point

One point for Scarlatti, 0 for Fat and Thin.


	12. Midnight Stroll

_Author's Note: Just because we're all such hopeful romantics… May you find that which you desire._

**Midnight Stroll**

Spike instructed the cab driver to let him off near the dry cleaner; he paid his fare with the intention of walking the rest of the way home. The second his face graced the window pane, Signora Elisabetta, the long-time owner and family friend beamed widely at him. He was somewhat bewildered at the reception since it's seven in the evening and the shop has closed for business; when he's this late collecting his laundry, the Italian matron was usually cranky at him.

She unlocked the door to let him in, "Buona notte," he said in greetings, hugging the laundress.

"Buona notte," she replied in return.

She pulled him to the counter with unbridled enthusiasm, "Michaelangelo, sono entusiasta di incontrare la tua ragazza."

He was taken aback, "Non ho una ragazza," he said. And just to be sure there'd be no misunderstanding, he even said it in English, "I don't have a girlfriend."

She gave him the eye, followed by a scowl. She went round the counter and waved a yellow sundress at him, "You wear dresses."

Spike was horrified, "Non indossare abiti. Appartengono al mio amico."

She gave him a suspicious look, "Amico?"

"Signora Elisabetta, I promise you, amico! I swear she's just a friend. She's staying with me for a few days."

She folded the dress neatly and put it on top of the holdall. "She's staying with you for a few days," she echoed unconvinced.

"Yeah, just for a few days. Then she goes back home."

"È necessario alimentare il vostro amico, lei è troppo magra."

He laughed, "I feed her well enough. She's just naturally skinny."

Eventually after much denial on Spike's part, she conceded there was no exciting development after all. She affectionately shooed him out of her shop, "Ok, addio."

"Grazie," he said laughing. He felt no sense of urgency so he walked leisurely the rest of the way home. But for all his intelligence, Scarlatti couldn't understand his community's eagerness to marry him off.

Winnie was in the middle of the living floor, doing _Naukasana_, a common yoga posture that works wonders on the abdomen. Her upper body and legs were raised to an angle of 30 degrees; breathing normally, she held this position for 30-40 seconds then relaxed. With her eyes closed, she didn't know Spike was home until she heard the coffee-maker kicked into life. She opened her eyes to find Spike standing over her, smiling.

"Hey," she said. He gave her a hand and pulled her up, "You're light as a feather."

He went to the fridge hunting for something to eat and found a bowl of salad.

"You've not had dinner yet?" she inquired as she checked the wall clock, half past eight.

"Nope. What about you? Did you have anything to eat?"

"Nope."

His brows knitted, "Why not?"

"I don't have an appetite."

"That's not good," he said as he munched on rabbit food.

"Spike, do you think we can go out for a little bit? I'm pretty sure it's quite safe to walk around now. It's late." He felt sorry for her. She's been cooped up in the apartment for two days, plus the three days she spent confined in her own place. Maybe foolish but he agreed to take her out for a stroll. She clasped her hands in excitement, "I'll get ready. Thank you. Thank you so much."

He chewed his green leafy vegetables, wondering what on earth he got himself into. He should have made up an excuse and said he's tired, be selfish in that way. But seeing how unhappy she was becoming, he simply has to take a chance.

Winnie came out attired in a white short-sleeved, high-collared, button up shirt; black ankle-length trousers and black flats. She looped a scarf in soft fuchsia around her neck. He smiled at the vision of beautiful simplicity.

He hated to make her wait, but there's something he must do before they walk out the door. "I'll shower and then we'll go." She nodded. To pass the time, she trawled the Net and came upon a news feature about the infamous millionaire playboy Scott Packer. She read a portion of the article, "The Packer's legal team announced that they are quietly confident their client has no case to answer for and that eventually all charges would be dropped." She felt her throat constrict.

"Ready?" She looked up to see a casually dressed Spike in light blue polo shirt, denim pants and canvas shoes. She walked over to him and hooked an arm around his. "Ready," she said.

They walked out of the building, strolling slowly, enjoying the stillness of the night. She leaned close to him, finding comfort in the hardness of his bicep. He looked at her and felt a protectiveness he didn't think he possessed.

There wasn't anything magnificent in the footpath they walked on. They kept walking until they reached a small suburban park; a green oasis in a sea of residences and buildings and car parks. He stretched out on the grass, his hands tucked under his head, he stared at the darkened sky, she took his lead and did the same.

He recited from memory of his childhood a rhyme,

"Star light, star bright.

The first star I see tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish, I wish tonight.

"What do you wish for?" she asked.

He reached his hand out to her. She responded and intertwined her fingers with his.

"I wished for you," he said.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his eyes never straying from her own brown eyes. It was at that moment she could no longer deny what she felt for him for ages. For the longest time she had liked him, dreamt of him, carried on conversations with him in her imagining. And if the price for finding love was to face life and death head-on then so be it.

PS: I hope it's not too soppy.


	13. Spike and Winnie's Day Out

_Author's Note: Those familiar with my style know that I am a believer in everyday moments, here's one to tickle your funny bone._

**Spike and Winnie's Day Out**

Evenings were becoming more and more of a challenge. The intense sexual energy they generated for each other could literally power the apartment. Winnie was in a permanent state of war within herself. Spike, on the other hand, had no such issues. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to devour this woman. The only thing stopping him was his sense of decency. He didn't want to take advantage of her situation and her vulnerability.

Tonight, as with last night and the nights before that, it was a chaste "Good night, sweet dreams" between the two of them. Winnie went to bed wrestling with her desires. And so did Spike, with the addition in his case of being physically in pain. "Bloody torture," he murmured to himself.

In the privacy of his room, sleep eluded him. He accepted defeat after an hour of tossing and turning which only served to exhaust him more than if he just stayed up. He gingerly walked across to his library to find Winnie wide awake, she herself struggling with sleeplessness.

"Want company?" he asked. To his surprise, she replied by tapping her pencil on the pad. Before he realised what he had done, he pulled her off her feet and lifted her up, "Good girl." He felt a personal sense of achievement.

When he put her down, he went to the fridge. Unsure how far she's come along with her Morse code learning he tapped a word using a fork on the marble kitchen bench. She listened intently and shook her head. "Again," she said.

He tapped it again. She shook her head and admitted, "I don't know the first letter."

"W for wine" he said. She tapped the answer: "Yes."

He brought over a bottle of red and two glass flutes. Then he selected a book, a tome with the boring title, _Social Engineering: The Art of Human Hacking_. He sped read through it a couple of years ago so hoped that the second time around it would send him to oblivion. He didn't count on it still being a compelling read. They were like two college kids sitting side by side on the sofa bed; one studying Morse code and the other refreshing himself on the art of human hacking.

Eventually, with the effect of wine and exhaustion, Winnie went to slumber land. She fell asleep curled up with her laptop. He removed the gadget and covered her with a blanket. He noticed she had Officer Teddy in the crook of her arm. He too found sleep when he got to page 220.

It was sunlight flooding from the balcony that woke her up. The wall clock said it's nearly nine in the morning. She turned to look at Spike and giggled at the sight of him sleeping with the open book resting on his face. "Poor thing", she took it away, he didn't stir. She felt a strong and sudden urge to kiss him. _Would he know? _She was about to lean in when he opened his eyes. Her heart skipped a bit. _Has he guess what I was about to do_? She masked her embarrassment and her action by pretending to look for Officer Teddy. "Here he is," she said and she fell back on the bed hugging the bear.

They laid side-by-side. "What day is it?"

Spike answered, "Sunday."

She mumbled, "The hearing is on Thursday." _Five more days and I'm free._ But something nagged her, "Spike, I'm worried."

"Why?" He felt for her hand, squeezed it tenderly.

"I read a news article online. Packer's legal team are confident they could get the charges dropped. What if…"

He kissed her hand. His lips brushing on her skin gave her the tingles. "It's just tactics. They don't want to look defeated. Don't worry. Angelica said with your photographic evidence and your testimony, she could put him away for life. Come here." She scooted closer. They snuggle-cuddled like so, neither one wanting to be the first to move.

"Will you be at the hearing?"

"If I'm not working you can expect me to be there. Witness Protection will take over from me at some point." She stiffened. She didn't think it would be necessary.

"When?"

"May be the morning of the Trial, honestly, I've yet to receive any details from the Crown Prosecutor's Office. Don't worry, everything will be fine." She felt reassured.

It may be that she's developing a strong connection with Spike because all of a sudden, she sensed his brain churning, "What's on your mind? I can hear your brain clicking."

He smiled, "I was just thinking… would you like to go out?"

She couldn't believe what she just heard, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, but there's one condition, you have to be disguised as a nun." She was stunned then she had a laughing fit. It was so totally unexpected, so left-of-centre that it threw her off balance.

"A nun?" she said disbelieving. "Where are we gonna find a habit?"

"I have one in my closet."

"What?!"

He turned to face her, "Before you start thinking the worse of me, it was left here by my cousin, Sr Susana. She's back in Italy." She closely scrutinised his face, his eyes were serious, "Well?" he said.

"Ok…but it's not mortal sin right? To impersonate a nun?" This time they both laugh. His reply was, "Nothing a confession to Father James won't fix."

In the end, she did wear the religious habit. Spike even assisted her with the wimple, the piece of garment worn around the neck and chin, and which covered her head as well.

They went shopping to restock the pantry. It was all going well, till they had one momentary lapse in behaviour; that was when Spike adoringly draped an arm around her while they waited in the queue to pay for the groceries. They realised the lapse when a kindergarten-age boy called out to his mother, pointed them out and said, "Mom, that Nun has a boyfriend." Everyone's eyes fell upon them. Spike quickly disengaged from her and she appeared mortified. But once they got to the car park, they were doubled over in a fit of giggles.

After grocery shopping, they ate lunch at one of his favourite restaurant, and even went bowling.

Meanwhile, Packer's legal team was cranking up the billable hours, when normally they could only be found in country clubs enjoying leisurely lunches on the Sabbath. They were hard at work in the conference room of one of the swankiest city high rise: five juniors, two solicitors, one barrister and a Jury Consultant. They were being paid top dollar to deliver the best legal manoeuvring. And for the fees they were charging, their client expected to be out free. Only two outcomes were acceptable, an acquittal or a mistrial. But there was one problem, Winnie Camden.

They have searched high and low, turned every rock, and couldn't find fault. They couldn't find a weakness. The barrister was grim-faced, "How do you discredit a witness who works with the SRU? Who is so squeaky clean she doesn't have a parking ticket in her name?"

One of the juniors added, "She doesn't even have a truancy record in school."

The Jury Consultant, who has been involved in many high profile cases, said that the only way to get Scott scot-free was to pay-off the jury. But with the damning evidence and the unimpeachable testimony of the lone witness, no amount of money could persuade the jury to thrown in their lot with them.

After two hours of futile discussion, the Barrister called the Packer Matriarch to let her know that they hit a dead-end on the key witness, "Mrs Packer, Winnie Camden is a Prosecutor's dream."

"Thank you. Leave it with me."

She called her son to let him know what the lawyer said, and then she let fly, "You've disgrace our family. You've brought us nothing but grief and shame." Scott has heard it all before.

There was only one thing to do, get everyone out there – _as many as it takes_ – to lift Officer Scarlatti. _He's hiding her_.

He called the head of an infamous white supremacist group. Skin heads, street savvy and very cruel. His newspaper has written several defensive articles in favour of the white supremacist group. _They owe me, time to call in a favour._


	14. Trapping Scarlatti

_Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Kdj539. _

_Please note that Yoh-Lin Tee first appeared in the multi-chapter "Weapons of Mass Destruction." For back story, please read it. Thank you._

**Trapping Scarlatti**

Sunday late afternoon:

Winnie changed out of the Nun's habit into a black singlet and a pair of denim shorts that put her long legs on display. His eyes gained a mind of their own. They fell on her pins and refused to look elsewhere. Then his brain clicked into gear, he's just hot-wired this way.

She's well-proportioned at 1.68m (5'6). His eyes scanned her from her bare feet, his brain clicking and storing the information along the way as his eyes go all the way up to meet her eye-to-eye. His brain captured the stimulus, it being her, and "stored" it as a neuron pathway imprint. Her image transferred from neuron to neuron, till she was encoded in his memory.

This was the image he stored: The legs toned as a result of practicing Yoga, the butt firm, the abs wash-board flat, the breast pert and erect, the neck graceful - his eyes travelled up till they reached her eyes. She was staring back at him, her hands on her waist. He smiled sheepishly at being caught out. "What can I say," he said in his defence. "I've hardly ever seen you in anything but in your uniform."

She laughed_, Fair enough_, and didn't think any more of it. But he was totally fucked now, distracted to the core. Another part of his anatomy developed a mind of its own. _I need a stiff drink. My God, this woman is going to turn me into an alcoholic._

She pottered in the kitchen making dinner. Chopping ingredients and dancing to Kiss' _I am Made for Loving You, Baby_. The lyrics were so suggestive that he struggled to breathe; she clearly didn't know what she was doing to him. He became totally unhinged when she raised her bare arms up, turning and twisting with her pillow lips pursed in a pout. _That's it_. He grabbed his book in a huffed, went to his room and closed the door.

But the image of her gyrating to _Kiss' _most enduring songwas inked in his photographic brain. But he realised that what really got to him was the colour of her skin, she has peanut butter skin and he so wanted to lick her. _If I could focus on something else_, he despaired.

He tapped the bar on his computer and it came to life. The only subject matter he could focus on more than Winnie's body was Winnie's safety. He searched for online information on public enemy number one. He wasn't disappointed with the amount of information; there were several gigabytes available on the sub-human who murdered a defenceless woman.

Reading the news reports refocused his mind until she knocked on the door, "Come in." The door opened, she walked in with a ladle in her hand, "Taste this."

He looked at the ceiling and despaired some more. He taste tested the casserole and gave her his stamp of approval. She smiled, tilted her head just so and peered at the computer screen. Her face crunched, he turned off the computer monitor, "It's ok, don't worry."

She nodded, "I know… it's gonna be ok." She turned to leave then pirouetted on her toes to face in his direction again, "Dinner in ten minutes." _Damn!_

He came out ten minutes later with a cotton shirt in his hand, "Come here… put this on." She put her arms through the long sleeve. He buttoned her up to her neck and folded the sleeve just pass the small of her wrist. The shirt looked like a reasonable length mini skirt. "What's this about?" she asked.

"You've been very distracting," he said with a wink. But it didn't helped much in that she looked too darn cute in it. _I need a stiff drink_.

"Well, thank you for the compliment, Officer Scarlatti."

They ate dinner, bread roll, salad, beef casserole with more vegetables in it than meat. "Are you sure this is beef casserole? It looks anaemic." She laughed at his quirky comment.

"Don't complain. It's good for you."

"If you say so..." They joked a lot until he noticed the time. _Nine_, "Um, thanks for dinner I gotta go. Need to work on something."

"You're welcome."

He scrutinised her, the lips looked very inviting. _Ahh_, he took the remaining wine with him and took his leave. He heard her asked, "Why did you do that?"

"Did what?"

"Go away in a huff… ?"

"Because just now I wanted to kiss you."

"Why don't you?"

"Because if I do I won't stop… ". He turned away and forced himself to focus on a battle plan, how to get them through the minefield. Yet, he made a promised to himself that as soon as this business was done, provided he was still alive and breathing on his own, she would be his. He heard the refrain inside his brain, _I am made for loving you, baby_.

She settled into her sofa bed and thought, _but I don't want you to stop… _She, too, heard the refrain in her brain.

It was mid-night by the time he completed the malware. He searched for the identities of the legal team. It wasn't hard. They were everywhere, on radio, TV, news print, online, even the bleeping college papers weren't spared. He zeroed in on the Jury Consultant, the notable Pierre Simon, known to one and all with his sobriquet Mr PS.

It was getting very late. He sent an email to Mr PS's mobile phone from an anonymous email address. Subject line: Constable Spike Scarlatti. He attached a scanned photo of himself in a bomb suit. He wrote: "For $50,000 I can give you Scarlatti. Reply by email only."

Spike went to sleep – soundly this time. Mental tiredness and the wine helped to put him to sleep; Winnie, too, learning Morse code nearly short-circuited her brain.

Monday:

Pierre Simon was up at five in the morning. He got all excited when he saw the email; so excited that he forwarded it to everyone in the legal team and to the client himself, effectively spreading the malware.

Spike's computer beeped, he smiled. His computer alerted him to the fact that his message has been opened, "Bingo."

Most people safeguarded their computer from viruses but very few think to do the same with their phone. It was the weakest link. It's even weaker when they sync every devices they own with their iphone. With one email, Mr PS opened the door to Spike Scarlatti to spy on them. Within minutes of the malware spreading, Spike had control of their phones, ipad, ipod, and when Scott Packer plugged his iphone to his computer to transfer some information, he took control of his personal computer too, and there was nothing McAfee could do to save him.

Winnie was already awake when he came out. "You look very happy," she said.

"That I am."

He showered, dressed quickly in a very casual combination of black T-shirt, cargo pants which had seen better days and a pair of slip on canvas shoes. He came over to her, gave her cheek a teeny tiny peek and said, "I'm off."

"You haven't had breakfast."

"No time." On went out in a hurry. He looped across his torso his reversal shoulder bag. Now, it's blue. The underside of it was red. She was left to wonder what he was up to, it seemed urgent.

He arrived at HQ at seven in the morning, two hour early. "Morning, Peter."

"Morning Spike. You're early." He didn't reply, just smiled and headed straight to the locker room; then the Gym, followed by target practice in the shooting range. By the time Sam and Jules arrived to work at eight am, Spike had disappeared like a ghost.

He went on the roof with a pair of binoculars. He suspected the modus operandi had to change after he slipped last Friday's dragnet. His hunch was right. He spotted seven heavily tattooed, thick muscled white supremacists. They tried to blend in but it's hard to do when they were all shaved. The suits and the leather shoes didn't erase the tattoos inked on their heads and necks. It just made them conspicuous. He spotted three vehicles. No, four. A Harley Davidson motorcycle tucked away from view, behind some bushes. He only noticed it when one of the thugs went in to retrieve a sidearm.

He came down, Team One were all present and accounted for. "Hey Jules, how's my baby?" he said.

"Is there something we don't know?" teased Sgt Parker.

Sam, the other half of the golden couple heard Spike claim the bun in the oven, "Hands off my baby."

"You have to learn to share you know," he said. "That's the first rule on the playground."

"Kids, kids…. Behave. Spike, you wanna baby? Have Izzy for two days."

"Seriously, when?"

"This week-end. I'm thinking of taking Sophie away for a romantic holiday and Clark is not up to it. He's dating now. You heard me, Spike. Clark is dating."

"So's Dean," piped up Sgt Parker.

Scarlatti scratched his head and smiled, "Well, I'm all for speed dating. From friends to fiancée in a week's time."

"I wanna see that," said Jules.

"My money's on Spike, said Sgt Parker. Before the day ended, a blackboard materialised in the staff canteen like magic. They were taking bets on the sex of the Braddock baby; whether he/she would be blonde, brunette or even a red-haired. There's even an odd for the weight and length of the wee bub. HQ was all agog and happy for the first baby to be born into the Unit that they nicknamed he/she, "Snapper." A word hybrid of napper and sniper.

And then there's a bet on Scarlatti's love life or lack of. Only Sgt Parker had his money on Spike. Greg put an arm around the Techie and said, "If I lose money on you, I will freeze your ass to desk duties."

The day went by quickly. Before leaving the building, he went up the roof again and scanned the terrain outside the SRU perimeter. All seven were still outside, bored, probably stuffed full of junk food, sleepy and likely very stressed.

Surveillance is not easy. To the uninitiated, it looks like child's play but that it ain't. It requires massive discipline, concentration and patience; and these guys don't have those qualities.

He came down and asked Sam for a lift. "What happened to your car?"

"It's in the garage." He wondered if he should let Sam know of the seven thugs outside, but alerting Sam would inevitably dragged him into his war. It just won't do, especially with a pregnant sweetheart.

"Home?"

"No, I need to go to the Mall."

"Ok?"

Sam's open-topped Jeep put him on display. The seven thugs separated and jumped into their respective vehicles. The guy on the motorcycle seemed to be the most experienced in this type of harassment. Spike kept his cool, chatted and joked with Sam as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Sam dropped him off at the Toronto Eaton Centre, "Thanks buddy, catch you tomorrow."

Three thugs left their vehicles while their partners find parking. Spike walked briskly; his tails not far behind. He entered a hardware store, discreetly flashed his badge clipped in his belt and nodded to the Manager, he was allowed in through the loading dock. When the three thugs tried to follow, the Manager confronted them but backed off when he saw the menace in their eyes. It bought Spike three precious seconds.

He turned into a recessed back door fire exit, picked the lock and re-entered the Mall. As he was walking up the aisle towards the elevator he spotted the guy in the motorcycle. All seven were wearing the same suits and shoes that they looked like Hugo Weaving without hair in the Matrix.

Spike walked to the escalator but didn't climb up it like people do in movies. The appearance of rushing was more attention-seeking than just holding your nerves. He lost two more but he knew it won't be for long.

He went in a men's room, careful to check that no Hugo Weaving copy-cat was inside. He entered a cubicle, removed a pair of red thongs from his reversible shoulder bag. Slipped off his canvas shoes just as one of the thugs peered under the first cubicle. He quickly hitched his pants up.

Mr Thug was looking for someone in canvas shoes, not someone in red thong. He coolly tapped his foot as if waiting to finish his personal business. The thug completed his inspection. When bad guy left, he stood up and unzipped the cargo pants from the knees. It became a knee-length walking shorts, gone was the long pants.

From his reversible bag, he took out a loud green Hawaiian shirt with prints of large white frangipani. The back had an image of a pretty hula dancer. He's had it since University days, the same shirt he used for his initiation into one of the College's top fraternity.

He put a baseball cap on, reversed the shoulder bag to red and he walked out. He learned spy-craft from the best senior intelligence in the business, CSIS' Yoh-Lin Tee. Becoming invisible wasn't about disguises although sometimes it helped. It was about morphing your appearance.

Spike walked out of the cubicle looking like a lost tourist from Hawaii. His shirt was so loud that people he met either averted their eyes in shock-horror or stared at the shirt laughing; no one looked at his face. He had a cap on, red shoulder bag, knee-length pants, and red thong. He passed five of the thugs on his way out and none of them recognised him.

Winnie had a bellyache laughing at his appearance when he showed himself home. He thought to himself, _Woman, if you only know how much sacrifices I'm putting myself in for you. _

When she was done laughing, she wrapped her arms around him and said, "You're so adorable." And he thought, _Woman, you're so worth it._

That night, he checked his computer to see what the crooks were up to, an email was sent to an Irish-Canadian, Colin Kelly Murphy. A bomb-maker!

Target: The court house.

It chilled his gut. Winnie would be inside the court house but so would he and his legal team. Would he put himself at great risk to avoid the Trial? No, it's a big court house. A small acid bomb would be all it'd take to kill Winnie.

He has to move fast. Think fast.

He wasn't going to bury the love of his life. _Over my dead body!_


	15. Watching Over You

_Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Julie Spitzer. _

_The song "I'll be Watching You" was first featured in the story "Let Destiny Speak." Spike's friendship with Lewis Young was described in detail in the story "Remembrances of Lewis."_

_**Tissue Alert!**__ It's not really Flashpoint unless we cry a little at some point, isn't it? Please get a hanky ready._

**Watching Over You**

Spike was filled with apprehension. His discovery that Scott Packer has engaged a bomb maker's expertise bothered him dreadfully. The worry got his chest in a tight grip yet it's not a burden he could share with her; not without scaring her senseless.

He reverted back to old form, back to the nasty habit of keeping things to himself. A bad habit his Boss has tried to talk, over the years, out of him; that was back in a big way. The darkness, the grimness, he bottled them up and tried to find a solution by his lonesome.

He laid prone on his bed, an arm over his forehead. _What do I know of Colin Kelly Murphy?_ He was aware that the bomber has a massive, badass reputation. His exploits has grown in proportion to the number of bombings he was rumoured to have engineered and so far no arrest. _A phantom? A myth? An urban legend?_ _A code name?_

Spike knew from whispers up and down the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) channel that Murphy could command his price. According to hearsay, his services didn't come cheap, but he could guarantee a result. The first time he came across the name was when he consulted with CSIS over eco-terrorist bombings of multi-national companies in Canada and overseas. Murphy has a deific status amongst lowlife, terrorist bombers across the globe.

Exhaustion overtook him. One minute he was staring at the ceiling wracking his brain for a solution; the next minute his brain has switched off completely.

He saw Winnie exit the Court House, smart-looking in her dark tailored suit. Reporters were gathered around her, she said a few words. He didn't know what she said, but whatever it was, they were lapping it up and she looked so happy. He saw his Dad next to her, hovering protectively. "Papa?" he whispered.

Dominic Scarlatti smiled at him. He mouthed, "Sono così orgoglioso di te, figlio." His chest swelled to the size of Canada. His Dad, he's proud of him.

Winnie spotted him standing near one of the columns. She smiled, waved and rushed over to him. Next thing he saw was an orange blast, followed closely by an ear-splitting explosion. Then she disintegrated before his eyes, along with everyone around her.

"Winnie! No, no. Noooooooooo. God no!"

She heard the shrieks coming from Spike's bedroom, followed by uncontrolled gasping breathe. With strong athletic legs she hurdled over the back of the sofa bed and was by his side in an instant. "Spike, Spike. Wake up. Wake up." He was drenched in sweat, shaking like a leaf.

She shook his shoulders hard. "Spike, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

His eyelids literally flew out in fright, he bolted upright. "Winnie, thank God. Thank God." He grabbed her to him tightly, quite distressed. The side of her face pressed on his chest she could hear the loud, frantic beatings of his heart. She was amazed he didn't keel over with a massive heart attack. His hair was plastered on his head; swimming in perspiration.

She waited until his heart rate slowed before disengaging from his embrace, "Let me get you a glass of water."

When she returned from the kitchen, he was sitting on the bed, hunched over, his head between his hands. "Here," she said softly, worried she might startle him. His hand shook as he took the glass from her. He drank greedily, spilling some water down the side of his mouth. She sat next to him, "Would you like to talk about it?" she asked concerned. She wasn't surprised when he shook his head from side to side.

"I'll get a wash cloth," she said. She got up to walk away but he stopped her. She stood in front of him as he wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his head on her belly. She stroked his head with one hand, and rubbed his back with the other. He was crying, she didn't know what triggered it but she intuited that it must have something to do with death; death of a loved one. _Lou? Sgt McCoy? His Dad?_ _It could be any number of people he failed to save_.

When he was all cried out, he released his almost death grip on her. Wordlessly, he went to shower; she made coffee. It would be a long night – no, a long morning. She looked at the wall clock; it was one in the morning.

He didn't look at her when he came out of the bathroom, when he came out he was dressed in white T-Shirt, overlaid by a checked blue and white polo shirt; denim pants and rubber shoes. He has his leather jacket draped on his arm. "I'm going out, I'll be back shortly."

"Spike, you're in no condition…" he ignored her. He closed the front door before she could finish her sentence. "…to drive."

There was nothing she could do but trust him to keep his head. She looked for Officer Teddy, and together they walked to his bedroom, laid on his bed and cuddled together. It comforted her to smell his scent. "Please come home," she whispered in tears.

Spike found himself in the Ontario Police Cemetery. He could find Lewis' resting place even in the inky darkness. The eerie silence never bothered him, this was the one place he often found solace, comfort and protection.

He reached his best friend's tomb, touched the cold marble, "Hey, bro. How have you been? Sorry I've not come to see you for a while. Been busy keeping the peace you know." Tears came in torrent down his cheeks; like someone turned on the tap.

He sat next to Lou's tomb and rested his back against it. He draped his leather jacket on him. "Lou, buddy. Winnie's in trouble and I don't know what to do." He started off his monologue, between sob, he poured his heart out to a friend who in life **always** had his back.

"I really should stay away from people… everyone who gets close to me…"

"I can't do this anymore…"

Winnie fell asleep briefly and woke up with a start. "Spike…"

She came out of the room, saw the time. _He's been gone over an hour_. She felt frantic. _Where could he be at this time?_ She called his phone. The "Hot call" in her voice was coming from the bedroom_, He didn't take his cell_. She decided to call for help… she dialled Sgt Parker's number.

A very sleepy voice answered, "Hello, Sgt Parker… how can I help you?" In spite of her growing apprehension, a laugh escaped from her lips. Sgt Parker was always so in character, "Boss, it's Winnie…

He was immediately alert; sleep went out the window in a flash, "Winnie! Is everything ok?"

"No, it's not ok. Boss, it's Spike."

"What happened?"

"He drove off… he had a nightmare. He's been gone over an hour."

"Gone… over an hour." When it comes to Spike nothing was straight-forward. "Ok, I'm coming, see you in a few minutes."

"Boss, thanks. I'm so sorry to trouble you."

"Hey, don't apologise. I'd be more upset if you didn't call. See you soon."

Marina turned around sleepily; she overhead Greg's half of the conversation, "Who was it?"

Greg Parker rolled out of bed, dressed quickly and replied, "Spike, he had a nightmare and took off."

"Honey, save time and go to Lou first," she said. "Trust me, he's with him."

"How'd you know that?" he said with a half-smile.

"Where would he be at two in the morning that isn't shut or dangerous… besides, I've heard enough to know he and Lou were more than best friends; and it wouldn't be the first time you found him there."

"You're right… now go back to sleep, he said.

"You kidding right?" she smiled.

He was about to leave when she said, "You forgetting something?" He turned back and planted a kiss on her lips. Parker called Winnie to say he think he knows where Spike is.

In the early days after Lou passed he was often here, sitting with his back to the marble tomb sleeping. He's been crying for over an hour. He was spent. He drifted into a micro light… he was awoken by sound of footsteps. Voices. Two men. He made himself smaller. Two flashlights were scanning the surroundings. The guards were doing their round. As the men got closer, their voices became clearer in the stillness of the night.

Man 1: What would you do, man?

Man 2: Well, I reckon prevention is better than cure. **Preemptive strike, man**. I'll just have to make sure I'm ahead of the game.

Man 1: In that case, **it's gonna be ok, bro**.

It was as if Lou spoke directly to him. "_Preemptive strike, man. That's what you need to do. Don't wait till you've gotta diffused a bomb. Just don't give him a chance to make one, it's gonna be ok."_

"Thanks bro, thanks for having my back." Tears gushed out of him again, tears of gratefulness. He hugged his legs, allowing his jeans to absorb the salty tears. He heard footsteps behind him; he lifted his face, turned around to find the cherubic face of Sgt Parker. "What are you doing here?"

"Let's just say, I got a phone call."

"Winnie…"

"Yeah… so what did old Lou tell you?"

"He told me it's gonna be ok."

Sgt Parker smiled and put a protective arm around him. "Let's go, someone's waiting for you. And I don't want to see at work today. Not in this condition. Can you drive?

"Yeah" he said.

"Without falling asleep on the wheels and killing yourself in the process?"

"Yeah, trust me."

"Well, that's the problem isn't it?" Spike laughed. They walked down the path to the car park as a wise roosting saw-whet owl hooted.

Winnie spent much of the wait pacing the floor, alert to the soft click of the door. The second she heard it, she rushed to the door, and morals be damned! She would rape him if she has to but she didn't get the chance, Spike walked in with Sgt Parker not far behind.

It didn't take a genius to know that Winnie was anxious to have Spike return to her, Greg smiled and said, "Well, I'll let you two look after each other then." He closed the door behind him and thought_, Good on ya, Spike._

She stood nailed to the floor, a second later she said, "What the hell," tossed Officer Teddy in the air, rushed over to Spike, stood on her tip toes and kissed him. His Italian blood sizzled….

It didn't take a genius…


	16. Preemptive Strike

_Author's Note: Winnie's legal name, "Guinevere Camden" was first mentioned in the story "Hope." _

"_The Love Offensive" is a prequel to all previous stories written with the exception of "A Pleasant surprise."_

_Geeks United was first introduced in the story "Weapons of Mass Destruction." For backstory please read it. _

_**GIDDY ALERT!**__ This is a very romantic chapter, although the title doesn't suggest it. _

**Preemptive Strike**

Winnie and Spike were smouldering with passion. The pent-up emotions exploded. The feelings she has long suppressed and repressed came out in very passionate kisses. He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom, their lips still locked together.

He wasn't going to be denied this time, not now, not after what he has been through. He wanted her so much. He wanted the peanut butter skin, the plump juicy cherry tomato lips, and the firmness of her body.

_This all-consuming fire, could this be possible, can it be?_ She breathlessly called his name, "Oh, Michaelangelo…" They fell onto his bed, she was pinned underneath him, "Winnie…" he murmured her name with heat and passion.

She chose this moment of intimacy to reveal her real name, "Guinevere," she said.

"Who's Guinevere?" he asked as his lips followed the contours of her neck.

"My real… name… is Guinevere," she said painfully breathless.

He stopped momentarily, he looked into her eyes and said, "Even your name is beautiful, Miss Camden."

They could have consummated their love right there and then but for the insistent beeping of the computer. Spike exhaled and felt deflated, that persistent noise meant something urgent has happened and he must attend to it. Winnie sensed the agony, minus the ecstasy. It took them a long time to slow their heart rate, both unwilling to let go, until she urged him, "its ok, Spike."

"No, it's not ok but I must…" He forcibly made himself get off Winnie. She remained in the room, hoping he'd include her. He was focused. She imagined that must be how he's like in the Command Truck. The look of concentration on his face betrayed the fear he held in his heart, "What is it?"

She could read him. They've worked long enough together for her to know this wasn't just any case. This was massive. This was life and death. "What is it?"

He turned to her, "Nothing…" he came forward to her. "Make me something to eat. I'm hungry." He kissed her plump lips again before sending her out.

He went back to the monitor. Someone has been buying potentially explosive materials. These were not C-4, or Semtex._ Whoever it is knows to mix chemical compounds from ordinary household products_. By itself, a purchase of pool chlorinator was just a purchase of pool chlorinator; but not when it's in conjunction with other stuff and at certain quantities. He was sure it wasn't intended to clean the swimming pool.

The RCMP has flagged an individual using the same credit card to buy different industrial and household stuff from various hardware and grocery stores. _What are the odds?_

Based on the products being purchased, he thought in all likelihood, they were making chlorine gas. But Colin K Murphy wasn't known to make this type of bomb. Bombers have signatures. They have certain styles and preferences. This was so way out there, it just wasn't plausible but he wouldn't discount it either because under the circumstance chlorine gas would be perfect. It would create chaos and disrupt proceedings.

It was Peter who alerted Sgt Parker, "Boss, check your email. An alert has been flagged by RCMP. Someone called asking for a list of EOD personnel."

Parker checked his email. _Someone wants the name of EOD personnel_. It's an exclusive Unit, which Scarlatti belonged to. A Unit composed of men and women whose identities are protected by the Government. He called Spike to let him know.

"Hey boss, what's up?"

"Someone's made an inquiry to RCMP about names of EOD personnel, should I be worried?"

"Nah, they won't find anything, I have control." he said cheerfully.

Parker shook his head; he has long given up trying to understand how the Techie's brain worked. He changed the subject, "Two more days till the Trial date. I expect we should hear from Angelica Delaney soon about Winnie."

"Yeah. Boss I'd prefer it if we can keep her in our custody." Parker didn't comment, "Boss?"

"I hear ya. Let me see what I can do."

"Thanks Boss."

Yesterday morning, after the computer alerted him that his message has been received and forwarded by Mr PS, he took control and deleted the Trojan email. He couldn't let his name float out there and he couldn't allow his photograph, although incognito out there either. He only used it as irresistible "bait." He took inspiration from the "I love you" computer worm which caused so much damage in May, 2000. It affected tens of millions of computers because the recipients couldn't resist opening the email that appeared as a love letter.

By the time Mr PS reached the law office at nine in the morning, everyone from junior clerks to the most senior law partner were all sweating blood and tears. They have been hacked and they didn't know how.

"How did you know we were hacked?" asked Mr PS. It was just too incomprehensible that this would happen two days before Trial. "This is unacceptable."

A young gun replied, "We know we've been hacked 'cause there's one email that keeps replicating itself. The server crushed about five this morning. We're still trying to find out the source of the Trojan email."

"And what is this email that keeps replicating saying?" he asked.

The junior clerk said, "It says, 'Assholes'… over and over again."

_Five am. Fuck_, _fuck, fuck_. Mr PS thought perhaps it was he who spread the disease but he couldn't be sure. What did he know of Trojan emails and viruses? He couldn't… wouldn't… admit to it. _It might just be coincidence. If I raise my hand up, my head would be in a platter and my body in the bottom of the ocean._

They heard his menacing voice before he was physically inside the conference room, "You mean to tell me this hacker has control!" It was Scott Packer.

The senior partner tried to pacify the client, "We have it under control. We've employed a dozen IT experts to fix the problem. They'll be here soon."

Packer was livid beyond words. He kicked a chair and threw a vase at one of the secretaries. "Idiots!"

He turned to the Jury Consultant, "Pierre, how's Jury selection?"

"That's been sorted. Jury has been selected weeks ago and on that count, they're a sympathetic bunch." He wished. Packer smiled for the first time since blundering into the meeting. Then without warning he scowled at them.

"We still have no news about the bloody guy who's harbouring the witness." Scott kicked the chair; they were alarmed at the way his moods go up and down with such ferocity and frequency.

Pierre Simon ingratiated himself, "On that count I can help. I received a tip, name and photo of the guy."

"Show me," barked Scott.

Mr PS scrolled down his iPhone's messages, "It's gone. I must have deleted it." He knew he didn't. He definitely didn't. And if he didn't, then the hacker must have. _Shit. Shit. Shit. _But no way in hell would he admit to it.

Scott leaned on the executive swivel chair, his long manicured finger steeple together, "Well…"

Pierre Simon squirmed, "Well, I can tell you what I can remember. The guy in the photo was wearing a bomb suit and he has an Italian sounding name."

"Bomb suit you said." The senior partner instructed one of the secretaries to call RCMP to obtain a list of EOD personnel. The conversation turned sideways when the trained communication experts at RCMP questioned the secretary why she needed the names of protected government employees.

The secretary didn't know why so she said, "It's ok, forget it." RCMP didn't forget. It flagged the call, added the phone number to the Terror watch list. Department of Defence sent an alert.

Spike smiled. They won't find him. But could he find Colin Kelly Murphy? This was the big question he was mulling over when Winnie appeared bearing food. Her hair was still wet from the shower, she was wearing a white camisole dress and she looked very inviting in it.

"It's too late for breakfast but too early for lunch… so here's some biscuits, cheese, dips and ajar of Nutella."

"Ummm…" he said, "I can think of something else I'd like to dip in the Nutella." She laughed. It was a merry, happy, crackling laugh he loved so much.

He turned off the computer. Murphy could wait.

She made her to sit on his lap; she straddled him and felt every inch of his hardened muscles. He dipped his finger in the Nutella, and spread the chocolate goodness on her lips which he always loved the feel of. He licked, bit, sucked and kissed the lips he longed for. Nutella couldn't be the same again.

It wasn't just about giving in to carnal desires. It was about making love. After they were sated with love, he asked as he kissed the tip of her nose, "Do you know Adrian Henri?

"I can't say I do," was her honest reply.

"Well, in 1967 along with Brian Patten and Roger McGough (she knew neither one but she wasn't going to tell him that) Adrian Henri published an anthology of modern poetry. Here's one."

Spike, with Winnie cradled in his arms, recited the poem, Love is…

_Love is…_

_Love is feeling cold in the back of vans_

_Love is a fanclub with only two fans (she nodded)_

_Love is walking holding paintstained hands_

_Love is._

_Love is fish and chips on winter nights_

_Love is blankets full of strange delights_

_Love is when you don't put out the light_

_Love is_

_Love is the presents in Christmas shops_

_Love is when you're feeling Top of the Pops_

_Love is what happens when the music stops_

_Love is_

_Love is white panties lying all forlorn (she giggled)_

_Love is pink nightdresses still slightly warm_

_Love is when you have to leave at dawn_

_Love is_

_Love is you and love is me (she sighed)_

_Love is prison and love is free_

_Love's what's there when you are away from me_

_Love is…_

"I never took you for a poet," she whispered.

"There's a lot you don't know about me yet, my Guinevere."

A few minutes later, he said, "Miss Sunshine, put me to sleep." She stroked his eyebrow with her finger, the way a baby was put to sleep; the gentle caresses sending him to snoozeland. When he woke up hours later, he was ready to face Colin Kelly Murphy. _They say Murphy's one of the best bomb-maker around. I'm one of the best bomb diffuser alive. Bring it on!_

He turned his CSIS-issued on computer and continued to watch credit card purchases, but knowing Murphy he'd be buying them in cash. He was too experienced, too notorious to make such elementary mistake as buy stuff with credit card. He'd be invisible.

But Spike was blessed with friends. He reached out to _Geeks United_ and now his computer was pinging.

Murphy entered Canada via a luxury liner that docked in Vancouver, British Columbia. Andrew, who was head of Ports Authority pinged him.

He boarded a plane from Vancouver and arrived at the Toronto Domestic Airport, Binary pinged him. She captured a screen grab from security cameras and sent it to Spike.

Murphy hired a car, Luca who was in charge of Road Traffic Authority pinged him. He immediately called the car rental company and requested the information for the vehicle's GPS locator. The bomb maker led Spike to his hide-out. And since there was an outstanding international alert on Colin Kelly Murphy, he tipped off CSIS who along with Interpol arrested the bomb-maker. **Preemptive strike!**

Nevertheless, Spike couldn't ignore the chlorine gas bomb in the making. It's out there! He knew. He could feel it in his bones.


	17. Conflict of Interest

_Author's Note: Please bear with me as you take this roller-coaster ride. Heart wrenching in some part; romantic in others; and a tear-jerker too. Hope you enjoy it. _

_"Angel's kisses" was first mentioned in the story, "The Long Shadow of Michaelangelo 'Spike' Scarlatti.", another prequel to this. _

_**Tissue alert! Please get hanky ready.**_

**Conflict of Interest**

Spike stared at the computer time stamp at the bottom of the screen. Tuesday has been a very long day. In just 18 hours his world was tipped upside down, not figuratively, literally.

He visited with Lou in the wee hours of the morning to seek succour and found it. He returned home believing, knowing _it's gonna be ok._ Then, he made love with the woman of his dreams. _They_ made long, unhurried love.

He went to sleep, woke up from a two-hour nap with a throbbing headache. He dry swallowed two over-the-counter pain relievers and continued to monitor the search for an infamous bomb-maker for hire. The trail was long, the search tedious and littered with worry. A team of Super Geeks got into the action because Spike asked for help, he didn't often ask and never lightly.

It, the hunt, was hard-going. It seemed easy and it seemed fast. But in reality it was a toe-curling mission all the way. It took the brain-power of four geeks and one intelligence officer to track him down; two experienced operatives to trail him from Vancouver to Toronto; and the combined effort of CSIS and Interpol to apprehend him, after so long on the run.

The hunt started the day before, Monday night. Somewhere inside RCMP's cybercrime Unit, Paul another member of Geeks United matched for Colin K Murphy against all data stored by M16, M15, Interpol, CIA, FBI. Customs and Immigration were alerted but Canada's border was porous, he could enter illegally. Intelligence gatherers though thought this was unlikely. There was a high degree of probability he wouldn't cross via the mountain ranges from the U.S. It was far more likely he would attempt entry by a common carrier from a third world country, where border control and immigration procedure weren't tight.

Winnie was surprised to see him up. She stood by the bedroom door, watching him work. Long fingers flying on the keyboard with the intensity of a man possessed, "Hey, two hour sleep… that can't be good for you."

He turned to look at her. She was still wearing the white camisole dress that showed the outline of her legs through the flimsy material. He smiled, _What's this beautiful creature doing in my apartment?_ He must be a man possessed because the beautiful creature didn't distract him from what he was working on, "Got work to do, Miss Sunshine."

She wasn't sure what to expect; it's unchartered territory for her. He didn't seem to like it when she hovered over what he's working on. _Classified. Top secret._ _Do I really want to get involved with him? _She chastised herself. _Seriously! You can't possibly be asking this now? _No, she couldn't be. Not after what had happened between them. Not after she's given herself to him, body and heart; even her soul. And if she's not careful, she'd likely to lose her mind, too.

She padded back to the living room to continue her tutorial with Mr Morse. Thankful that at least she had something to occupy her mind. Momentarily, her mind drifted to the Trial of the Year, Scott Packer vs the People of Ontario. She's forgotten it completely.

**1800 Hour.** There was an unmistakable, distinct sound of an explosion. Winnie jumped up, startled. Blood drained from her head and pooled at her feet. _Oh my God_. The sound came from Spike's bedroom. The bedroom they made love in. _You can't be serious_!

It was great relief when Spike turned the corner, speaking on the phone. The expression on her face said it all, he realised what she must have thought happened. She was rigid, her hand over her mouth. He said to himself, "Oh, Jesus! I'm so sorry." Still on the phone, he walked over to put a protective arm around her. She waited til he was finished before she gave his chest a good thumping, letting out a shout, "You scared me!"

"I'm so sorry. I forgot to change my ringtone. It's how I know Bomb Squad is calling." He lifted her tear stained face, "Forgive me?"

"I don't know Spike. I've been with you barely a day and I've been through the ringer. I've been happy, excited, worried, sad, helpless, frightened out of my wits."

He didn't know to say, _Is she regretting it already?_ His eyes spoke what his voice box couldn't express. She covered her face with her hands, swiped them over her hair, "I love you, Spike. I do. For the longest time I've loved you. But this… this is scarring me."

He was confused. "What are you saying? Is it over? Already?" Tears brimmed in his eyes_. Damn,_ she's never met a man so brave he could hold his nerve as he diffuse a bomb with a possible 500 energy blast radius who could cry at the drop of a hat.

"No, it's not," she said as tears flooded down her face. He was relieved but also worried. Worried it wouldn't last. Worried it would be just like with his relationship with his Dad. They were inseparable. They were tight. His Mom used to say that the two of them were like chicken breast bone, fused together. Policing ripped them apart_. If it happens a second time around, especially with Winnie, it would rip me apart._

He did the decent thing; said what she **needed** to know. "You have to **really** think about this. I've been abducted for my geek skills. I get shot at for being SRU. I'm in someone's list because I'm EOD. But this is who I am. I can only try to minimise the risks by being one step ahead but I can't eliminate all of them. If you think you'd stop loving me one day because it all got too much…."

She didn't let him finished; she walked over to him and placed a hand on his mouth, "Don't go there. We're in this together now."

They stood in the middle of the room in locked embrace. He thought the fun and games were not over because he would always court her in his playful ways. In ways unexpected with fancy footwork. But from here on their lives would also be graced with worries. They would have to toughen up, both of them.

Winnie moved to release her hold around his waist, wiped away the tears from his face with her fingers. "Hungry? We haven't eaten anything decent all day."

He teasingly said, "I have."

They had candle-lit dinner again, chatted and laughed as classical music played in the background. Winnie tapped the glass with her fork. His brain picked up "k", "I", "S". He didn't wait for the last letter. He leaned in to kiss her passionately. His shadow danced across the sheen of her face as the candle light flickered and illuminated them.

His phone beeped. She laughed, he groaned. "It's got bad timing," he mouthed the words into hers.

"Answer it before it gets hysterical."

Spike answered it. Winnie could tell it wasn't good news. He looked grim, tight-lipped and conflicted. Something worried him. It's more than a summon for duty. When he hanged up, she reached over, "I don't want to be kept in the dark. I know there are things you can't tell me. But if it's something that affects me, or us, I want to know. Because not knowing is worse. Deal?"

"There's a terror threat, it's been assessed as High. I knew something was going down…. lately I noticed a lot of pool chlorinator is being sold. But it wasn't just me. RCMP, CSIS, DOD, you name it, they've picked it up, too. Apparently, there's a lot of chatter. They want everyone on stand-by. All hands on deck. I have to leave tomorrow." She nodded.

"Boss will call us tomorrow about your new security detail."

_Goodness_. She's completely forgotten about Scott Packer vs the People of Ontario. When she opened her mouth to speak, it was to decline witness protection. "I don't want security. I'm safe here and I can safely find my way there on my own."

"Negative," he said. He shook his head side to side vigorously. "Not up for discussion."

She gripped his arms as tightly as she could, "Will at least listen to my plan? Please. I trust you so you must trust me, too." _Fair enough._ He nodded his acceptance of her term.

"If I go to Court with two suits following me around, they'd know it's me. I might as well wear a target on my forehead. But if I go incognito, dressed as a Nun, they won't guess it's me. I'll have someone from SRU dressed in civvy with me. I'll remove the habit once I'm called to the stand. Put it back on when I'm done. Trust me, it's safer this way."

He beamed proudly at the classy and clever and wonderful and beautiful woman._ Mine,_ he said to himself almost possessively_._ "Ok, let's call the Boss. We'll sell the idea to him."

"I don't want anyone else's to know of the plan. Just you, me, Boss and my undercover bodyguard. Four."

"Good."

Spike called Greg Packer, who thought it was ingenious. "But I have one question, where will you get a habit at short notice?"

"I have one, Boss."

"You do?" Greg sounded flabbergasted.

"Opps, that didn't come out right. My cousin left it here, Sr Susana, she's back in Italy."

"Ok." He sounded relieved.

**2100 Hour**. Winnie came into his bedroom with Officer Teddy. "Miss Camden," he said, "that bear was only hug by proxy. I don't need a proxy anymore."

She hugged the bear tighter. The poor thing has been tossed around like crazy, unloved and hurt. She wasn't about to abandon him and consign him to a box or a book shelf to gather dust. He got up and gave chase. "Give me that."

"No!"

She ran out to the living room, climbed over the sofa bed. He went one way, she went the other. Squealing and threatening each other with rendition and exile. They stopped the playful chase when the neighbour next door hit the adjoining wall with the handle of a broom stick, followed by a holler, "Stop that or I'm calling the cops." They ended on the floor in a fit of giggles.

They went to bed minus Officer Teddy because as Spike explained he's not into three-some.

**2300 Hour**. Spike was awakened by a sense of foreboding. He had developed a heightened sense of danger. Special Forces, soldiers, EODs, police – they all have this sense. "Don't ignore those internal warnings," his RCMP bomb squad leader used to say to all the trainees. "Ignore them at your peril."

He glanced at Winnie's sleeping form. She looked peaceful and angelic. Freckles scattered from her nose to her cheeks. _**Angel's kisses**_. A grandmotherly Filipino neighbour told him when he was a boy that, "In the Philippines when a baby get them freckles, we used to say her guardian angel kissed her in the night." _Your Angel's way too busy kissing you_. He kissed her lightly.

He went to the living room, sat on the middle couch and waited for the TV to come down. He flicked the remote from channel to channel. There was nothing good on. He turned it off and thought about how his life has changed so much.

They have their crosses to bear. Sgt Greg Parker, his Boss, carried the thoughts, images, and conversations with people he couldn't save. First Officer Constable Ed Lane lived with the guilt and the burden of shooting people who didn't deserve to die. Samuel Braddock could never get images of war out of his mind; images of death that's indelibly inked in his memory bank. Jules Callaghan lived with the fear of failure. Leah Kearns lived with having to meet her people's expectations and that constant fear that she might let them down.

He carried the cross of losing people he loved.

He prayed like he's not prayed before. _Please God, I can't look after her because I've gotta look after this City. Just please, don't let anything happen to her. It just wouldn't be fair._

He was conflicted. How do they do it? He thought of Greg Parker, Ed Lane, Sam Braddock and Jules Callaghan. How they make that decision every single day to put the people they don't know over and above their loved ones. His nerves of steel would be tested.

For real.


	18. Wednesday like No Other

_Author's Note: As a general rule, I research technical aspects of my stories. I wouldn't insult you, my readers, by writing fantastical tales that has no basis in truth. It may not be 100% accurate, especially when it comes to the nitty gritty but it wouldn't be for a lack of trying. This time, sources for my research are official pages of RCMP's newsletter. They are available online._

_It's a romantic chapter, although there's a healthy amount of factual stuff. Please enjoy it; preferably with a cup of tea, or coffee, whichever you fancy._

**Wednesday like No Other**

Winnie turned over to snuggle except Spike wasn't there. She patted the bed, _Gone_. She turned in the direction of the computer, he wasn't there. She rose from the bed, sans clothing. She felt vulnerable in her nakedness; she glanced at the door to make sure he was standing there watching. Suddenly, she felt like a child. Her white unsexy cotton night gown was on the floor, tossed out in another moment of unbridled passion.

And, her white underwear.

She recalled that funny line from the poem _Love is_. She put them on and went to search for him. In the darkness, she saw the outline of his head, both arms resting on the length of the couch's back. She hugged him from behind, "Hey…"

"Hey, what are you doing up?"

She didn't reply, instead she asked her own question, "Do you always wake up at one in the morning?"

"No. Come here, snuggle with me."

She hitched her night gown, climbed over the back of the couch, very unladylike. He smiled.

"A penny for your thought," she said.

"A Penny doesn't entice me."

"What would entice you?"

"A kiss." She kissed his lips. His eyebrows went up in an expression of disbelief, "You actually call that a kiss?" She pinched his side but he was muscular around there so she didn't cause pain.

She cupped his face, "Seriously, what's going on?"

"There's a lot going on but nothing serious. I don't want you to go alone to the trial. I wanna be there to support you but it looks like it's not gonna happen."

"You've supported me, and I know your thoughts will be with me tomorrow. But please wipe me off your mind in case you need to diffuse a bomb, ok? Have you been cleared for active duty, yet?"

"Not for SRU, no. But bomb diffusion doesn't really require strong arms, just nimble fingers. Mine are in good working order as you can see." He moved his fingers as if he was tinkling the ivories of a piano. She inspected his hands. They were calloused, scarred and burned in some places. Sometimes, she noticed, his finger nails would be uneven because he had to use them to strip wires.

"I love your hands."

"Thanks but you should go out more and look at more hands," he said. It wouldn't be the last time they'd have this conversation because she honestly loved how masculine his hands feel to the touch and how long they were.

He sighed, "We should try to get some sleep." The onset of insomnia was not helping him. Two hours of sleep, even he couldn't possibly keep this up without impairing his judgment and vision. But the harder he tried, the more elusive sleep became.

"I have an idea," she said.

"What?"

"Massage."

"I like that," he said. They opened up the couch to convert it into a sofa bed. In the absence of aroma therapy oil, she went to the kitchen to get a bottle of extra virgin olive oil. She got him to lie on his belly and gave him a Balinese massage; it's known for its gentle techniques and its aim is to make the recipient feel relaxed and calm. Spike fell asleep in no time. She stretched out next to him, and went to sleep to the rhythmic tick-tock sound of the wall clock.

They didn't wake up till eight in the morning which was refreshing. Then Spike went about the business of packing some clothes to take to ORU HQ where every available bomb disposal experts would converged for a briefing and to await a send-out.

When terror alert was "High", EODs didn't wait around at home to be paged. They get on with the business AS IF it's a GO any minute NOW.

There nothing ordinary with the Explosives Disposal and Technology Section (EDTS) of the RCMP's Technical Investigation Services Branch. This section develops, maintains, provide expertise and respond to counter criminal or terrorist acts, particularly those involving the use of explosives. The EDTS is comprised of four units: the Canadian Bomb Data Centre, the Special Support Unit, the Operational Response Unit (ORU), and the Public Security and Anti-Terrorism/Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear Training Unit.

It provides 24/7 response to explosives-related incidents or crisis situations. The Unit has radiological capabilities, which can support other explosives technicians, crime units, Customs and Excise investigators, and other Canadian police departments.

In addition, the ORU works with the Department of National Defence to ensure the Government has the capability to counter use of improvised nuclear, biological and chemical devices, and to prevent the remote activation of incendiary (inflammatory) devices, and hinder communications between criminals or terrorists during a crisis situation. These are why EOD personnel could not be photographed and paraded in public.

Spike Scarlatti, along with all SRU operational bomb techs, fell under the ORU as "other explosives technicians."

When he finished packing, they ate a leisurely breakfast. Winnie watched him with concerned eyes, "Call me tonight, assuming of course there's nothing bad happening out there."

He smiled, "I will. And, I'll check on you tomorrow. Do you want me to talk with Boss before I go?"

"No, I will make my own arrangement. You have enough worries of your own. I don't want to be this helpless, damsel in distress with no brain and no courage. I can look after myself."

"I know there was a reason I was attracted to you, despite your two-toned skin."

She laughed, "Silly." He caressed the right side of her face. The black, purplish bruises were fading. Now, yellowy in colouration.

"When will you return?"

"As soon as they downgrade the terror alert to 'low.' It usually takes a couple of days for this sort of threat to be calibrated down."

His wrist watch beeped, "I gotta go. Be safe. Be good, ok."

They kissed and hugged. She didn't want to let him go but she did. She couldn't say she didn't know what she was in for. _This would be a good time to find out if I have what it takes._

With Spike gone, she called Sgt Greg Parker on his personal phone to discuss the trial. "How's everything?" he said.

"It's good. He's left to…" she didn't have to complete the sentence.

"Yeah… we're on high alert here to."

"Boss, are you sure you can spare a man. I mean you're one man down already, another one just to cover me…. I think it's too much."

"Hey, don't worry about it. Sam is very happy that Jules would be out of harm's way if things go hot. She's going to be your buddy tomorrow."

"Oh, that's so great. I'd love to catch up with her."

"She'll be there at nine in the morning."

"Thanks Boss. Give my love to the Team."

At** 1800 hour**, Spike called Winnie. Her phone sang to her

_I love you baby_

_And if it's quite all right_

_I need you baby_

_To warm my lonely nights_

_I love you baby_

_Trust in me when I say_

_Oh, pretty baby_

_Don't bring me down I pray oh, pretty baby_

_Now that I found you, stay and let me love you_

_Baby let me love you..._

She giggled, _**How does he do it?**_


	19. The Trial

_Author's Note: I am not a lawyer, never even been to a lecture. However, I took the time to research the defence used in this chapter. I relied heavily on a paper called "CONSULTATION PAPER ON INTOXICATION AS A DEFENCE TO A CRIMINAL OFFENCE" published in Ireland that took examples of criminal law from several countries, including Canada. _

_In this chapter, you will laugh and cry. __**Tissue Alert!**__ Please prepare hanky._

**The Trial**

The last person Winnie spoke to last night was Spike; today, the first person she heard from was Spike. "Hey, Miss Sunshine, how are you?"

"Um, great, I slept like a baby. What about you?"

"Are you kidding me, how does anyone sleep in a bunker full of smelly men? They all look like miniaturised version of Godzilla plus they huff and they puff in their sleep, they almost blew the house down."

One of his ORU team mates overheard his conversation with Winnie and flicked his ear; suddenly she heard a yelped followed by, "No violence please. That's the second rule on the playground."

Another voice piped up, "What's the first?"

"You have to share." Overhearing his conversation with his buddies, Winnie chuckled. "Anyway, I'm talking to my girlfriend, this is private conversation. So, you all please turn off your hearing aids." He returned his attention to her, "Sorry about that." Then he turned serious, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah. I want it over and done with. I hope he gets what he deserves." She felt confident it would go well.

He sighed. "Win, I don't want you to be disappointed… he could still get away with it." But he didn't say what he learned researching Scott Packer; that the monster was by nature vindictive.

"How could he get away with it? We all know he's guilty. We have photographic evidence. I can't imagine how he could get away with it," she said defiantly.

"Miss Sunshine, I don't want you to get your hopes up. It's not as cut and dried as you think. Look, if I'm his lawyer I'll get him to plead not guilty on the basis of mental impairment. Last night, I read up on Canadian law." She audibly groaned.

"I heard that, Miss Sunshine, you hurted my feelings." She laughed and encouraged him to go on about his "findings."

Spike carried on telling her about his overnight education on Canadian law, in lawyer-speak no less, "At present, involuntary intoxication may excuse criminal liability, but voluntary intoxication is no excuse **unless** it causes a disease of the mind or prevents the defendant from forming the specific intent required to commit an offence where such a specific intent is an element of the offence."

"Spike, in plain English please."

"It means it doesn't matter what evidence we present. They probably won't bother denying he killed her, they'll just say that due to his constant state of inebriation, he has suffered brain damage and it prevented Scott Packer the ability to form intent. He couldn't possibly be held accountable for his actions. Unfortunately, Miss Sunshine, this statute also covers murder and homicide." She sighed.

She felt depressed already, changing the topic, she asked, "What were you doing reading on Canadian criminal law anyway?"

"I was bored. I needed some entertainment." She laughed out loud. When she stopped laughing she said, "I'm so glad you're not his lawyer."

"Win, his legal team would have been doing marathon meetings for days and they'd have prepared this defence by now. They failed to get you, they know your character is beyond question. It's the only tactic that would work," he said seriously, "But you know what, there are super heroes out there who'll get him. It's not over yet."

"And who is this Superhero?"

"I'm thinking Obi-Wan Kenobi."

She heard knocking on the door, "I gotta go, that's Jules. Love you and thanks for my new ring tone."

"Love you, too. Give my love to Jules and say hi to our baby."

Winnie opened the door excitedly; Jules frowned at her, "We've talked about this before. Don't you ever check the door before you open it?"

She was instantly sheepish, "I know it's you. Come on, no lecture," she pulled her inside. "So, how far along are you, Miss Jules Callaghan-Braddock?"

Jules smirked, "Ten weeks now. And it's not yet Callaghan-Braddock."

"Oh, not long now. I'm sure in its the pipeline," she teased, Jules didn't deny it.

"It's so wonderful. I'm so happy for you," she hugged the tiny one who's carrying an even tinier one. They got all excited about the baby and the pregnancy. They prattled on like there's no tomorrow until the wall clock chimed.

"Oh goodness, I better get ready… Jules, help yourself to anything." She rushed to the bathroom. Constable Callaghan walked around the quirky apartment. There's only one space she's interested in, she pushed the _trompe l'oeil_ of a French inspired window, it revealed Spike's workshop. _So, mini babycakes has a sister_. One painted blue and the other painted pink. _Male and female, interesting_.

Inspecting the two mini robots, she leaned on the wall and it clicked, "What the…?" It's a concealed door. She opened it; it revealed a safe. Jules smiled. _Wow, you're full of surprises, Scarlatti_.

"Jules, can you help…?" _Where's Jules? _she looked around frantically.

"Coming," Jules came out of the workshop. "Dya know that Spike has a male and female robots?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why… don't you go in there?"

"No, but I know it's a workshop. One day I'll sticky beak."

Jules helped her with her wimple. "You're the prettiest nun I've ever seen. Shall we go? Where's your change of clothes?"

"Oh, I'm wearing it; just a conservative black dress."

"Good girl, let's go."

Angelica Delaney was waiting for them at the foyer of the Court House, surrounded by cops and legal assistants. Reporters were all a-huddled in one corner, while curious onlookers were granted access to the trial by requesting for passes online, such was the interest in the case that it was given unprecedented media coverage. But since the Packer family owned a significant number of media outlets, some editorials and news reporting have been favourable to Scott.

The Crown Prosecutor acted as if she didn't know them both well, "Follow me," she said. She led them to an empty chamber. "We wait here." Once inside the chamber, she thanked Constable Callaghan. She reserved her effusive gratitude to Winnie, holding the despatcher's hands, she said. "Without you, this wouldn't even go to trial. You've taken such a risk to do this."

Winnie teared up, "Anyone would have been willing. There could have been three of us had they not injured the others."

"You're right. Let's hope we get the bastard."

They heard a knock, "It's time." Winnie quickly removed the nun's habit in a practiced move. She was out of it in less than a minute. She was a sight behold in a black dress, reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy in that famous black one piece she wore in front of the White House, standing next to Pres Kennedy. Short-sleeved, body fitting but not hugging, length passed her knees. She wore black low heeled shoes. Her curly hair was held together by a simple strand of silver hairband. She concealed her yellowy bruises with make-up. she was good to go.

The presiding judge asked the defendant how he intended to plead; Winnie caught her breath when Scott Packer announced to the packed gallery he was pleading "not guilty". _Spike was right_. The senior barrister stood up to hand the judge a document; he read it out, "Not guilty on the basis of mental incapacity."

When she was called to the stand, she answered confidently and without embellishment. Throughout her testimony, she thought of it as a"hot call". She was well-practiced in the art of staying calm under pressure. Of trying to sound cool when all she wanted to do was shout, "scorpio". Of focusing on Angelica's voice as if she was Sgt Parker so she didn't miss a beat. Only Jules knew how scared she was.

The defense didn't question her. _Spike was right, again_. Her heart sunk. She didn't think it was possible to feel _this_ homicidal. It was just too much to contemplate that justice wouldn't be served today!

At the end of her testimony, the lower right side of her dress was crunched, she twisted the fabric to within an inch of its life. But she was still defiant. She glared at the accused and his legal team, if looks could kill they'd all be dead. At least one of the junior legal assistant squirmed.

When Angelica Delaney presented the prima facie evidence, the photographs taken of the deceased battered face, the defense didn't question it. They had no arguments. Instead they called on experts from the field of neurology and psychology, there was even a retired FBI profiler who all said that the accused's "drug addiction and alcoholism eliminates the requisite mental element for the offence of homicide in the first degree".

The senior barrister, resplendent in his Gucci suit and Ferragamo leather shoes, orated and challenged the Prosecution's case. "The defendant, Mr Scott Packer, doesn't have the mental capacity to form intent. You could argue it was voluntary intoxication but let me remind you that the intention to become drunk could not, cannot, establish intent to commit homicide." In his oration, the lawyer also made sure he referred to the fact that "just to be at his own trial, my client had to take Prozac because he's ill."

The defense also presented facts, indisputable they claim that Miss Sonia Kruger was herself a drug user and an alcoholic. Delaney objected fiercely to the malicious portrayal of the deceased, "She's not the one on trial."

The parents of the victim, sat impassive on the front row. Mrs Annette Kruger, mother of the deceased had to be removed from the gallery in a state of utter distress. Her father and brother bravely carried on so that she could, in death, be adequately represented.

His defense team knew of his guilt. But they excused their complicity by saying their client's diminished mental capacity was evident. After hearing all sides of the argument, and all the expert testimony money could buy, the Judge asked the Jury to deliberate.

Angelica Delaney told Jules and Winnie they were free to go, but they decided to stay on. If nothing else to support Angelica who have had an uphill battle from the start. Underfunded for one and understaffed for another.

The Kruger family has means to fight again another day in a civil suit but they would have preferred justice. Winnie asked if she could speak to Sonia's father. An emissary from the Crown Prosecutor's team was sent to let Mr Wayne Kruger know of Winnie's request, he said he'd be delighted to speak to the brave young lady.

They were given privacy. Win and Mr Kruger hugged as if they knew each other. "I just want you to let you know Mr Kruger that Sonia wasn't who they said she was. I held her hands for 15 minutes, in that time it was I though I knew her all my life. She was a beautiful person. You should be proud of her."

Mr Kruger, who at just 55 looked 70 from the stress of worrying about the criminal case and the sorrow of losing an only daughter said, "I know. I'm proud of her. We love her so much. We miss her." They chatted for a long while, mainly Winnie telling Sonia's father of available resources for counselling and trauma for victims of violent crimes.

The jury deliberated for less than three hours. It was no surprise when the verdict came back "Not guilty."

As sad as they were of the outcome, the three women didn't hang around to commiserate with the family. They walked back to the chamber so Winnie could put on her nun's habit. While the defense celebrated their victory, Scott Packer huddled with his bodyguard. "I want the witness. She's pretty and feisty. I'll have fun with her."

The bodyguard, a paid mongrel without conscience and scruples, stood by the door of the chamber to await Winnie's exit. The burly guard was 198 cm (6'6) tall and weighed a hefty 280 pounds of muscles (127 kgs), and current judo champion. A pregnant Constable was no match to this behemoth. Thankfully, Angelica took them through a secret passageway, so while the mongrel waited at the door, they had already left the building.

Scott Packer was angry beyond words, he's not used to not getting his own way.

The hunt for Scarlatti would intensify. He was the key to finding her – and it would be relentless.


	20. Heightened Alert

**Heightened Alert**

Meanwhile, at ORU Spike received a call from Yoh-Lin, "Hey buddy, we need you at the CRIB."

"Hello to you, too. What's wrong with you people? No one taught you guys good manners and right conduct?" He could afford to be cheeky. The Senior Intelligence Officer who was his CSIS handler laughed. There's never been any formality between them.

"If it pleases you, 'Hello Constable Scarlatti'."

Spike smiled, "Buddy I can't go to the CRIB, I'm in lock down along with several miniature Godzillas."

"We're a man down. We need intelligence gathering capability at the moment… everyone not dead has been raised. You're it, man."

"Let me find the CO. Hang in there." Spike looked for the ORU head honcho, "Boss, CSIS," and passed on the phone; he wisely stayed well out of it.

The ORU CO frowned, "Who's this?" Yoh-Lin introduced himself and explained why he needed Scarlatti.

The CO wasn't happy, "Negative. You can go to the University of Toronto and round up all the 18-year-old geeks. Vet them, clear them for duty and you can have them working for you gathering intelligence in no time. But I can't conscript 18-year-old chemistry geniuses and teach them to diffuse bombs in 24 hours. So find yourself another GEEK."

The CO gave him back the phone and said, "Briefing in 10 minutes." Scarlatti made a cute face.

"Well, you heard what he said…"

"I swear to God Scarlatti, I'm going to withhold your pay." Spike laughed, "Sure, sure. You do that and I will double your mortgage." The two geeks had been threatening each other with malicious intent since they met. But their friendship has been tight from the beginning.

Before Spike closed the call, he asked, "When will I see you again? I'm itching to beat you at Scrabble. **Again**."

"That's because you're a cheat. Next week, we play chess. Loser pays for dinner and a bottle of Dom Perignon."

"I beg your pardon. I'm not a cheat. ROFL is in the dictionary."

"Dictionary dot com is **not** a dictionary."

"Yes, it is."

The tinny bellowed, "SCARLATTI!"

"I gotta go! Day and time next week, let me know."

There wasn't much to the briefing anyway, it was more of the same. More chatter. More waiting for updates. More investigations, etc. etc. etc.

After briefing everyone went about the business of comparing notes, sharing techniques of bomb diffusion, learning new ways to make bombs. They might as well use their time wisely.

**At 1700 Hours** an update came through. Five separate vehicles at various intervals were stopped by Customs Officials on both sides of the border. All vehicles were ferrying pool chlorinator purchased in Toronto in tins of baby formula, Milo and other tinned products. The items were being transported to the USA.

Intelligence analysts confirmed that the anarchists were buying the products in Canada so as not to be tracked Stateside. They then transported the products to the US through border crossing. A CIA operative made the comment, "God knows how much of these made it across." The target apparently was the July 4th celebrations.

The plot now exposed, the Canadian assets were free to go. Spike hitched a ride with Toby, another SRU bomb tech. They were ecstatic, "Home sweet home." They listened to radio newscast over the hour long drive home; it's no surprise that Scott Packer was the biggest story of the day. Toby shook his head, "He got away with murder, bloody hell!" Spike expected the outcome but it still shocked him to the core.

Winnie wondered if Spike would call, it's passed the time he normally called to check in with her. Worrying wasn't going to help anyone so she decided to take a luxurious evening bath. She was lying in a tub of foam-filled hot water when Spike stealthily entered the apartment.

His first stop was the computer, _The bastard is free. Heaven knows what he's up to now_. He checked the email and text messages Scott has been sending out from his iPhone. There was a text to a burnt number, "_I want that guy, I want him fucked over. I want that Winnie girl_." It sent chills up and down his spine.

In the inbox was a reply, "We've got three people watching her apartment. No one's home yet but when the roommate returns, we'll give her the third degree. We have people watching SRU 24/7." _Winnie __**AND**__ Georgia are in danger._ It was fast becoming a freaking nightmare.

The only solution was to decapitate the monster, figuratively. He decided Scott Packer has to be sorted. The law was toothless against money, power and connection_. It's time to activate Obi-Wan Kenobi._ First things first though, secure Georgia.

But he was tired, hungry and he could use a foam-filled bath himself. He undressed, put his bathrobe on, walked over to the fridge to get a bottle of red wine and two glass flutes. He whistled "Can't Take My Eyes Off You (I love you, Baby)." before entering the bath, it would be decidedly unromantic if she freak out over his sudden appearance and bash him with a bar of soap.

She heard the tune and smiled, "You're home." Her perfect white teeth dazzled him. "May I join you?" It was a small bath but they didn't care. She made herself smaller so he could get in. With space a premium, there wasn't a lot of bathing to be done, just a lot of cuddling. They toasted to love and happiness; and soaked till the water became unbearably cold.

As soon as they were dressed for the evening, Spike asked her to call Georgia to spend the rest of the week with them. "Are you sure?"

He smiled, "I am. You girls can have the bedroom, I'll have the couch." But Spike didn't anything without rhyme or reason, "Why?" she asked. He hesitated.

"You promised to tell me if…"

"Ok, I supposed it's best that you're fully aware. Scott has people surveilling your apartment. They want to snatch Georgia to make her talk. They think she knows where you are. I want both of you close to me until I can get him sorted, ok."

"Ok, where would you like to meet her?"

He checked the time, "We're going together. Tell her to go to Queen's Train station, 9pm and wait by the ticket window. Tell her to follow a Nun." Winnie smiled, _That's me. _

Winnie told Georgia exactly what Spike said. But the blonde roommate was perplexed, "Are you high or something? What are you up to?"

"I'm not high or anything. We're playing a mystery game. Are you in or not?"

"Mystery game? Hell yeah. I wouldn't miss it for the world. 9pm, ok. I'll be there."

Spike instructed her to wear comfortable clothes underneath her nun's habit. She got the idea; they would be playing cat and mouse in case they were being followed. She wore a black body hugging T-shirt and black thights and her comfy running shoes.

Spike packed his reversible shoulder bag, in it were a black hooded shirt from his own wardrobe, a baseball cap and a green-and-yellow wig . He gave it to Winnie, "As soon as you get to the ladies. Get out of the habit, reverse the bag from blue to red, bag the habit. The shirt and the baseball cap are for Georgia, you get to wear the wig. Are we clear?"

"Where will you be?"

"I'll be following you. If she was followed, I'd be able to spot the tail. I'll take care of them."

Before they left, he fitted Winnie with an ear wig. He went to another room, "Can you hear me?"

She replied, "Copy" it brought on a wide smile.

Spike called a Taxi Company and arranged for a cab to pick them up a block away. "All set?" She smiled confidently. _This is definitely way better than being kept in the dark_. Spike gave her a scooter, her faced lit up, "Seriously?"

"Yup, you're the scooting Nun. And I'm you're scooting bodyguard."

She was so happy she didn't notice the pair of inline skates, laces tied together, hanging around Spike's neck. His favourite K2 Mach 90 Inline Skates. They got to the corner block in time for the Taxi cab. "Queen's Train station."

They split up once they got to Queen's Train Station. Winnie left the scooter with Spike to look for Georgia who was also on the look-out for a Nun. They spotted each other at nearly the same time. Her roommate didn't recognise her but followed as instructed.

From a distance Spike pinged the two tails. He put on his inline skates, skated after the tails and whacked them with the scooters. They were out in an instant. Spike followed Winnie and Georgia to the ladies and waited discreetly outside.

When they came out Georgia was laughing obviously tinkled pink; but Winnie was scowling. The yellow-and-green wig was Halloween get-up. Spike pinched her cheeks and said, "You're beautiful to me."

He gave the ladies the scooters, took the bag from Winnie, "Everything in here?" She nodded.

"Well, let's go. Scoot away." It was the most fun they've ever had in one night, and they even got around to eat dinner at a nameless place downtown.

It was midnight when they got home. Exhausted the women fell asleep quickly. But he wasn't done. It's time for Obi-Wan Kenobi.


	21. Obi-Wan Kenobi

_Author's Note: I don't own Obi-Wan Kenobi but I love him and I think he's wonderful. He fitted the story so I borrowed him. I'm sure George Lucas won't mind._

_Swear word warning – lots of F word. Please don't be offended._

_Not a lot of dialogue in the beginning, but please bear with me, it gets exciting. Please be ready to cheer our hero._

**Obi-Wan Kenobi**

The malware in Scott's iPhone kept Spike in the loop of what the homicidal maniac was up to. The evening news report said that there was a party being thrown at his Rosedale mansion to celebrate his win. _Time to give Scott Packer the good news_. Spike changed into a black Tee tucked into black cargo pants; covered his head with a black beanie and wore black leather gloves.

From his workshop, he took out a S3 Spyder III Arctic Laser from his concealed safe. The high tech gadget was a dream come true for Spike. He dreamt of being able to hold a lightsaber since he saw Star Wars as a four year old. Now, he has the world's most powerful portable laser, a real life lightsaber if there ever was one.

The main part of the gadget was the "Torch" – the flashlight so bright it could set things on fire. His personal choice was the blue laser; it also came in krypton green but he didn't fancy that. It emits laser light so hot it takes literally two seconds on the skin before one feel it burn, and it's not a normal burn either – but one you'll feel under your skin. Spike had tested the gadget on just about everything. He was able to set paper, cardboard, and pieces of wood on fire with little to no difficulty.

The S3 Spyder III Arctic Laser is so powerful its beam can go OVER 6800 meters or just over four miles. It came with a lot of fancy stuff but they weren't needed. For tonight, all Spike wanted was its lightsaber functionality.

He left the Apartment around one in the morning. He didn't call for a taxi this time, he was going to drive. His new number plate was ready for collection; whatever he did now wouldn't matter.

He went down to the garage. His trusty 1985 6-series BMW coupe started up quickly. The 27-year old car didn't have GPS tracking device, a good way to remain invisible in a world where hiding in plain sight has become more and more difficult. The SRU Techie was one of the few people around who knew how to remain in the shadow.

He drove to the Parker mansion, parked the car about ten blocks away. He put on his inline skates, a pair of black canvas shoes inside one of his cargo pants' big pockets. He left his wallet and badge in the car for safe keeping. Around Rosedale, no one would bother stealing a 27-year-old car. Not when car nappers were spoilt for choice; a Lamborghini there, a Lotus Esprit there, or maybe a Porsche.

He skated to the mansion and was there in no time. In the darkness, wearing an all-black phantom suit he was not easily seen. Using the laser beam from his lightsaber he took out the exposed cameras of adjoining properties, apologising as he went about the sabotage. That done, he took out the cameras at the house.

Security personnel were distracted by the sudden malfunction of the cameras; as they converged in the security depot trying to work out what happened; Spike with his back against the perimeter gate removed his skates and put on his canvas shoes. He stealthily walked up the path to the main house, popping the lamps ahead with the blue laser beam as he went along. By the time he reached the front door, the garden path was spookily dark.

He entered the house unnoticed for the simple reason everyone were either stupidly drunk or high with narcotics; even those paid to look after the principal of the mansion.

He walked around like he belonged at the party. He found Scott Packer, looking the worse for wear on a recliner and smashed out of his brains as usual. He draped the maniac's arm over his shoulder, "Where are you taking me?" he asked groggily.

Spike didn't bother replying; they side-stepped several bodies before they could reach the stairs. As they were preparing to ascend, they bumped into one of the guards, "Where are you taking him?"

Spike acted dismayed, "To the toilet, man. Or would you prefer to do it?"

The other guy smirked, "Better you than me."

"Right, out of my way then." The guard got out of their way. He shook his head in amazement, how he got away with that boggled the mind. For one thing, he wasn't wearing the carbon copy three-piece suit all the bodyguards wore. One thing was certain then; they couldn't be arse to protect Scott Packer.

He carried the millionaire upstairs, opened one heavy door, a bathroom. _Great_. He sat Scott on the floor while he filled the tub with water; that done, he threw him in. The scion of the Packer dynasty thrashed about in the water, gulping water as he did so.

The dunking seemed to bring Scott to his senses, "Who the fuck are you?"

Spike leaned languidly on the vanity, his arms crossed on his chest, "I heard you've been looking for me."

"How did you get in here?" Scott tried to get up from the tub, Spike pushed him back in. He turned on his laser and aimed the beam on the maniac's face. In two seconds he felt burning sensation, he screamed, "I'm burning, I'm burning." Spike switched the laser off.

"Fuck you, I'll have you arrested."

"Arrest me for what? I can kill you and I can assure that there won't be any forensic evidence. There won't be any shell casing. No gunshot residue. No shell fragments. And how do you suppose they'll perform forensics on laser beam?"

"What do you want?"

"I don't ever want you near Winnie Camden. Not anywhere near her apartment, not anywhere near where she works. Or, I will kill you."

Scott Packer laughed his face off, "You're a cop. You're a bloody cop. SRU. Wait till I tell my lawyer about this. I'll have your badge."

"Really," said Spike. He turned on the laser and pointed it on the water, within seconds, the surface bubbled. It was starting to boil. Scott freaked. "Fucking turn that thing off."

"You know what …. I'm not in the business of giving people, even assholes like you, their expiration date but I swear on my father's grave I will kill you if one strand of Winnie's hair gets out of place. Do you understand me? Am I making myself clear?"

Scott nodded.

"If I ever find out you've got people after her, you will die a very painful death. Is that clear?"

Scott nodded mutely; he seemed to have lost his power of speech.

"Give me one more excuse, and I will erase you from the face of the earth. Understand?"

Scott nodded again.

Having made himself clear, Spike left the bathroom but hid inside one of the rooms. Not long after he left, Packer followed suit. Swearing his head off; and cursing the nameless Italian's forebears.

Scarlatti checked his phone; he was certain Scott would make a call. And, he did. _Very predictable._ Spike recorded it. As soon as Scott hanged up, he entered the room and blast Scott with a blue laser beam, singeing his hair. The smell of burning hair follicles was enough to panic the monster.

"I told you I would know… call it off - NOW!" Scott Packer dialled the same number and did as Spike asked. That done, Scarlatti opened the balcony door; then turned to addressed the monster, "You have a choice, burn or jump."

"You're fucking crazy."

The Italian tilted his head to one side, narrowed his eyes and spoke with undisguised menace, "I told you if you give me an excuse, I will kill you. Now move."

Scott kept moving back until he reached the balcony. He looked down. What he saw made him smile. Down below was the biggest, deepest, freaking private pool in the country. If the choice was burn or jump, it was a no-brainer. He'd jumped.

"Go ahead, jump."

Scott laughed his head off, except he didn't do the math. The pool wasn't exactly under the balcony. He missed the water by inches, enough to crack his head.

The honourable SRU cop walked back casually to the perimeter, remove his black canvas shoes, put his skates back on and away he went.

He was home by 2:30 in the morning. He turned on the television to catch the breaking news: The female news anchor has just announced "Remorseful Packer committed suicide". Spike slept like a baby. One asshole gone!

Spike woke up at eight in the morning to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, he half expected to feel bad about what happened but he didn't. Not that he needed to rationalised it to himself, after all it was Scott's choice to jump. _He could have chosen to be burnt by laser, nothing a cosmetic surgeon couldn't fix. But like always, he chose what he perceived to be the easy way out._

Winnie gave him a smacking good morning kiss, "Georgia's still sleeping."

"Let her sleep, come cuddle with me."

"I'm so ready to go to work," she said. "I missed everybody." He kissed the top of her head, "I miss you when you're not there."

Spike felt especially vindicated when three days later nearly a dozen women came clean about being victimised by Scott. One of them permanently paralysed after one episode of severe bashing.

They were just too afraid to say anything. No one's afraid now.


	22. Confessions

_Maybe tissue alert! Get hanky just in case…._

**Confessions**

Winnie returned to work on Friday to grand applause. She didn't know what for. In all honesty, she didn't think of herself as heroic, it was just something she had to do for Sonia; and to a lesser extent for herself.

In her absence HQ become quasi betting central, much to her amusement. She said she totally understand the fascination over Baby Braddock. But over Spike's love life or lack of, "Why?" she asked. "Why not", they said. At any rate, "Spinnie" as they quickly became known at work didn't have to make a declaration of love… everyone sort of knew it was only a matter of time, or so they claimed.

Everyone was happy but as the day wore on Spike got quieter and quieter and quieter.

It didn't escaped Sgt Greg Parker's notice, he gave him the eye, and a barely there swing of the head in the direction of Briefing Room One which meant "Follow me." He scratched his head and followed, he glanced in Winnie's direction whose smile made him smile back.

The Boss instructed the despatcher to "Hold all calls unless…"

"…It's a 'hot call'."

"Thanks, Winnie."

Spike closed the door behind him, sat opposite Greg. "Boss…."

The cherubic-faced Sargent beamed _that_ smile that could melt a glacier, "We received reports this morning of fried cameras in the Rosedale area…"

Spike looked down at the table, studied the wood grain and traced a line with his finger. "You wanna know if I had anything to do with it?" He didn't lie. Not to the Boss he couldn't.

"Yeah, Boss, that was me."

Parker waited for him to continue. He looked directly at Greg; in whose eyes were neither condemnation nor judgment. But there was compassion and concern for him. He started off his confession, "Yes, I was there. I gave him a choice. He chose to jump."

"And the other option being…?"

"To burn."

"What exactly did you mean by burn?" In answer to the query, he removed the Spyder Arctic Laser from his pocket, slid it on the table to Parker. The Sargent looked at the object with inquisitive eyes, "How does it work?"

Spike explained how to turn it on. Blue laser light beamed out, Greg whistled, shook his head and said "Blimey."

"I would have marked him with that."

Parker turned off the Gadget to continue with the Q and A, "Would you have killed him?"

"Nope…"

Parker looked at him with utter disbelief, "You didn't think it'll kill him to jump?"

"Nope… the height from the balcony to the ground was 12 feet (3.76 metres give or take a few). At worse he would have suffered a few broken leg bones and a concussion. I've been thinking a lot about it….. There's more to the story and I intend to find out what it is."

He knew he shouldn't but Parker couldn't help but be impressed that he _actually _mentally calculated the distance between floors, _Whoever does that?_

"If you had no intention of killing him, then why did you.."

"Why? Because I needed him to understand I mean business. I told him if tried anything on Winnie again, I would kill him. He obviously didn't believe me because the first thing he did after I warned him was to order a hit on her." Spike played the voice recording. The dead man's voice chilled the Sargent to the bone, "KILL THE FUCKING BITCH." Parker closed his eyes and exhaled.

Steely silence enveloped the room. The tension so thick that it was suffocating to both of them. It seemed an eternity passed before Greg spoke again, "Does that bother you that he's dead?"

He shook his head from side-to-side. "No," he said with conviction.

The Boss was taken by surprise, "No? You could have fooled me."

He looked down at his hands, looked up with tears in his eyes, "What bothers me Boss is that it doesn't bother me? Does that make me a monster?"

Greg smiled, "That, Spike, you are NOT. I'd fail to find a more compassionate human being but something happened that night. You need to talk to someone."

Spike nodded, after a minute silence he simply said, "Thanks Boss." There was really nothing left to say. Parker rubbed his face. _It's an impossible situation._

Meanwhile, in a confessional box somewhere, a priest heard a confession from a gentleman.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The priest leaned closer to better hear the man. "I killed someone in retribution for murdering my daughter."

The gentleman spoke softly, slowly as if in a trance, guilt weighing heavily on him. "I found him lying on the ground. He was just lying there bleeding… but he was still swearing. Saying, 'Fucking help me up.' I looked at him with disdain. Anger welled up inside of me. I kept seeing my beautiful daughter. He beat her mercilessly. There wasn't a bone that wasn't broken, she was so badly beaten we didn't recognise her. We had to do a DNA test." A pityingly sad sound escaped from his throat, like he was being strangled.

He cried a sorrowful lament, his body wracked with pain, his soul damaged and his mind impaired with anguish.

"I helped him up and pushed him into the pool. I watched him drown. I stood there and watched until he wasn't moving. Until I know he wasn't going to hurt another man's daughter."

The priest watched as the gentleman rocked slowly back and forth; when he was certain the believer has finished his confession he blessed him, "Son, I absolve you from your sins. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

"For your penance, I asked that you go to police and make a confession of your crime."

The gentleman thanked the priest. He left the confessional box with his head held high. It was as if the confession had pulled a thorn from his soul.

He went to the police to confess his crime and was promptly arrested. By late afternoon, it was all over the news: Father of Sonia Kruger Confessed to Killing Packer.

Greg watched as Spike walked away.

Gloom hovered in the City …


	23. Boom Boom

_Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated dawnpritchard66 and tmvg. _

_I'd like to thank tmvg for her very instructive review regarding "The Trial." As a law student, of which I'm not, she pointed out that Mr Packer would have got away with homicide, but should have been convicted with manslaughter. Please bear this in mind in case you're tempted to use to the same defence. __**(smile-y)**_

_But for consistency, please allow me to continue to use to same defence with impunity, ala-Law and Order._

_Hope you like this fun, fluffy chapter._

**BOOM BOOM**

Gloom lifted… Mr Kruger received what Packer didn't, the City's morale support. No one disputed he was wrong, morally wrong, to take matter into his own hands, but many were of the opinion that he did give the Law a chance. Talk-back radio lawyers who never once attended a lecture in criminal law, let alone read a book on the subject, say let the man free, for he too was "mentally impaired at the commitment of the crime".

Angelica Delaney refused to head the Prosecution's side. "I'm due for a holiday and I'm taking it" was her official excuse; but was overheard to say in private, "Over my dead body…" Her legal assistant allegedly replied, "I don't blame you."

**It was a summer of change – a summer of record heat **

Toronto broke its all-time temperature record on the 4th of July when the mercury climbed to 36.6°C, the hottest day of the summer so far. Environment Canada said that the humidity made it feel like mid-40s and warned of "torrid temperatures and high humidity" in more than a dozen communities across southern Ontario in a special weather statement issued that morning.

It was also a summer of romantic heat, promise and changes at SRU.

The days and the weeks that followed were full of promise and changes. Sam and Jules have reached another milestone in their relationship, being the first trimester of their pregnancy. Everyone cheered and it was a cause for celebration, "Any excuse really," said Donna Sabine, Boss of Team Three.

"So… do you have the picture?" asked Spike Scarlatti, who could barely contain his excitement. He wanted to be at the ultrasound appointment with the golden couple but Sam Braddock refused his tag-along offer.

Sam smiled, "Yeah, the baby is amazing. Strong heart beat." The photograph was passed along til it reached Scarlatti who scrutinise the photo, very closely, then jumped up in the air, "It's a boy. We're having a baby boy."

Sam playfully punched him, "We," pointing at himself and Jules, "are having a baby. It doesn't include you."

"How do you know it's a boy?" they asked laughing.

In his usual over excited self, big brown eyes wide open, he said, "Cos it's got a willy."

Sgt Parker who was standing next to him gave his head a back slap. "Ouch, Boss, it's true. Look," he showed the print to Greg and pointed out what he perceived to be the baby's private. "Unless Jules swallowed a baton…. it's a willy."

After much banter, Ed broke it up, "Alright, put that away. Gym time." He feigned anger at Sgt Parker, "Someone has to wield the stick around here. All mamby-pamby…" The Boss smiled and went back to do what he hated most…. writing reports.

Leah made it a point to do yoga regularly with Jules at work. Sitting in a lotus position, face to face, the Haitian sighed and thought to herself, _She's soooo beautiful to look at_. Smooth fair complexion, pink cheeks, clear eyes, firm body; and good, healthy lungs - she could see it in her regulated breathing.

Before she could thoughtfully process her words, Leah blurted out, "Jules, I soooo wanna be pregnant just so I can glow like you." Callaghan got so distracted by the unexpected remark they finished in fits of laughter.

Among the many changes, ass-kicking Jules has come to accept that things would not be the same, her priorities have changed. She accepted those changes weren't because she's less capable; but rather because there's someone relying on her fully for protection.

There's only been one occasion when the Team had to remind her, when she got all eager to chase a bad guy, that "Before Scarlatti, there was Callaghan," that she's just as effective in the Command Truck. They crossed train for this reason; it's so none of them was indispensable. What Spike could do in the Truck, she could do just as well. Should anything come up that required fancy codes and gadget-y stuff, Spike was just a comm link away.

One thing Jules hated about her new circumstance, but which she also liked in equal measure – was that of being the object of everyone's affection. She complained to Sam, "I feel as if I've got 10 helicopter husbands hovering over me all the time. I can't drop a pen without all these men tripping all over themselves to pick it up."

Sam laughed every time she complained about her "10 helicopter husbands."

The two men not inclined to hover were Greg Parker and Ed Lane, they said they knew better than to mess with pregnant women. However as to her complaint, the two wise men advised that she should "milk it" instead.

Ed smiled and whispered conspiratorially with Jules, "That's six months of pampering. Go for it." Greg added, "Enjoy it while it last." She reckoned these were wise words, and because she's a quick study, she said with a twinkle in her eyes, "Why not?"

In Winnie's case, it was the polar opposite; no one else could hover but Spike. He never seemed to leave _that_ particular spot in front of her. One day, Fearless Leader Ed Lane came bursting through the meeting room to have a man-to-man chat with Sgt Parker. "Greg, what's the solution here?"

Parker was startled, "I didn't know we have a problem."

Ed pointed in the direction of the despatch desk, "Look at him, look at him. If he gives Winnie another beautiful eyes I swear to God I will thump him."

Greg looked out and chuckled, "Come on Ed, he was always hanging around her even before they were an item. It's nothing new."

Ed Lane glared at the Boss, "N**ot** like that," as he pointed in their direction. To aggravate matter, Spike wheeled a chair next to Winnie just as Ed Lane turned to look at them, "I swear Greg he hasn't been productive since they started going out."

Greg smiled sagely. "It's all new. Give it time. It'll all simmer down." The Team Leader looked at the Sargent like he just landed from the moon, "You think so. Well, we'll see about that. You said the same thing about his robot and now it's got a name."

The Boss sighed. His Team Leader has a very valid point. "There's too many changes happening all at once, when we get a breather we'll fix their schedules so they'll only overlap by four to six hours. And we'll alternate their days off." The Fearless Leader was satisfied with the suggestion. "Let's hope it's soon. They're so sweet they're giving me a toothache." Greg the closet romantic smiled, he actually quite liked the fact that everyone's in love.

The next day, after the big baby reveal, Spike came to work with a mini Babycakes, his own creation. The same blue robot Jules saw in his workshop at Apartment 7.

"Hey, what's that?" squealed Winnie.

"It's Boom Boom."

Every one gathered round the mini Babycakes. Spike presented Jules with the remote, "It's for our baby boy. He's called Boom Boom. Oh, I also made a girl. Her name is Bam Bam."

Ed couldn't believe what he just heard, "Did he say 'Boom Boom and Bam Bam'?" Nearly everyone doubled over in laughter.

Spike was defensive, he said,"What's so funny? They all have names with B."

Regardless of everyone's reaction to it, Jules was so tickled pink, "Oh my God, thank you Spike. Can it do anything?"

"Oh yeah," the Techie quickly went to the staff room to get a glass of water and placed it in the hand of the robot.

"Press this button to turn it on, use this lever to make it move." The robot brought the glass of water, without spilling its content, to Winnie. Everyone clapped.

"He's made from recycled items, so he's environmental friendly."

Sam watched in amazement and internally wondered how he's going to beat that surprise. _All this excitement for a robot_, then he realised he has the mother of all surprises. And it would blow Jules and everyone away!

After shift, Spike brought Winnie home. It's her turn to cook dinner. Spike avoided the kitchen as he couldn't stand the mess. He's the use, wash and dry sort of guy; whereas Win's the 'we'll do it all in one go' type of girl.

"How's Georgia?"

Win brightened up and excitedly shared her flatmates news, "She's goin' backpacking around the world next month so I'll have to look for a smaller apartment. A one-bedder and somewhere more affordable."

Spike watched her and thought he could get use to the sight of her cooking in his kitchen, "Why don't we move in together?"

Win smiled; gazed back at him and said, "It's early days Spike. Let's give each other a year maybe."

He pouted, "It's not early days, it's been a month, 744 hours." Win chuckled, "You're so geeky."

"Is that good or bad?"

She threw a towel at him. He sparked up, "So you're throwing in the towel …"

"No, Spike. I'm not. Come let's have dinner."

Over meatloaf and salad and bread roll, Winnie thanked him for what he did for Sam and Jules, "That was such a grand gesture."

"I know right!"

She chuckled again, for like the hundredth time that day, "And you're so humble."

The night ended with the two of them in bed. Naked bodies intertwined, half her body on top of him, her face on his chest, her leg hooked over his torso, his right leg around her left, his left arm caressing her face.

She said to him, "I didn't think you'd still want me… after you've seen me in my worse."

"Huh?" he said, curious to find out where this was coming from.

"Well, you've seen me bruised, seen my uncontrollable steel wool hair, seen me in mismatched pajamas, cotton night gown. And you still want me…"

He lifted her face up so to gaze upon her face, "If this is the worse you could be, then I consider myself a very lucky man."

She was momentarily speechless. _This man_, she thought, _makes me smile, laugh and cry_. _I am a very lucky girl._

"Tell me again what love is according to Gabe."

"_Love isn't about ridiculous little words. Love is about grand gestures. Love is about airplanes pulling banners over stadiums, proposals on jumbo-trons, giant words in sky writing. Love is about going that extra mile even if it hurts, letting it all hang out there. Love is about finding courage inside of you that you didn't even know was there."_

This time, she recited it with him.


	24. The Beautiful Game

_Author's Note: Perseus and Jason were featured in the multi-chapter "A Man called Perseus." For back story, please read it. _

_This chapter dedicated to Justicerocks and vguz04. _

**The Beautiful Game**

It was gearing up to be a very hot summer morning. To avoid heat stroke, Sam and Jules went for a walk very early on a rare day off. Their robot went with them to the park much to the amusement of onlookers. Sam commented to Jules that honestly, attracting the public was all the robot was good for. "It can bring you a glass of water but can't get it for me. I still have to get up, get a glass, fill it with water, put it in his hands and drive him. I might as well bring it to you."

He had to admit though it made them the most popular couple in the park. It wasn't long before they were surrounded by people wanting to know what it could do. When asked if it has a name, Sam said, "R2D2 2." Jules nudged him. He looked at her in mock horror, "No way I'm gonna tell them its name is Boom Boom."

They went home before the temperature soared to unbearable level; it was a scorcher of a day. Jules lounged on the bean bag, and put her feet up on the coffee table. Sam watched her with amused eyes; he never would have imagined that one day he'd find for himself an unpretentious pony-tailed warrior-princess.

He pottered in the kitchen to make a light lunch when he noticed a pile of still unopened mail. In the middle of the pile was a postcard, _Isles of Kalymnos_. It's been over three months since his mini-adventure up North. He flipped it and smiled at the words, I am and he is, underneath them written in big bold letters, STRANOPOULOUS. _So he's the father._

The blonde warrior brought over two plates of sandwiches and two glasses of juice in a tray, set it before Jules. He gave her the postcard to read. Intrigued, she sat up straighter to peruse the card and arrived at the same conclusion, "So he's the father and they made it back to Kalymnos. Back where it all begun."

Sam nostalgically added, "Yup, they've gone full circle."

They both looked at it again. "This squiggly drawing… does it mean anything?" Sam studied it closely, his brain searched stored information, "It's the route they took in their fishing boat to get back home."

Jules was aghast, "Sam, seriously, he crossed the Atlantic Ocean in a fishing boat with a baby on-board. Well, that's just insane."

The blonde warrior laughed, "It's not a leaky, reekity fishing boat. It's a top-class commercial boat. He was ex-Navy Seal so he'd know where to cross it and when. And it's very likely he navigated with an experienced crew." He paused to rub her belly, "He wouldn't put Jason at risk, same way I wouldn't put you and the baby at risk."

She smiled, grateful for the protective nature of her partner, "Did you wanna know if we were having a boy or a girl?"

"It doesn't matter to me, girl or boy, it's the same. Did you wanna know?"

Jules sniggered, "Not really but Dr Scarlatti was convinced we're having a boy."

"Well, I wouldn't take his word for it. Let's reserve judgment after the baby's born."

They ate their light lunch and laid down side-by-side on the cool wooden floor, the veranda's bi-fold door was left open to let the breeze circulate. But even with the electric fans on, the heat and the humidity was unbearable. "It must be hard carrying a child in this heat."

"That's why you gotta look after me," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"What do you want me to do, princess? Your wish is my command."

"Get my bath ready, please?" Sam kissed her lips, then her belly, "Coming right up."

Winnie and Spike waited out the hottest day in air-conditioned comfort. First off the to-do list was light brunch in a fancy Italian restaurant. This was followed by a movie date, The Dark Knight Rises was having its second week-end, and Spike would not be denied. They left the cinema just as the temperature cooled a little.

"Let's go play football."

"You mean soccer, right?" she asked just to confirm they were on the same page. Spike nodded so she said, "Sure."

They went home so Spike could change into his Azurri jersey. She, not having the required sports attire, wore her hockey jersey. The Italian teasingly said, "Are you asking to be lynched at the park?" She playfully punched him, "You're there to defend me."

Win was surprised to see how full the park was and they all seemed to know him. She lost count of kids who called him Uncle, "Spike for someone who's an only child, you sure have a lot of nephews and nieces."

"They're my cousins' kids."

Confounded, she asked, "How many cousins do you have?"

"Well, Mom had three siblings and Dad had seven. In all I have… let's see," he counted them on his fingers, "35. I have 35 cousins."

"And they all live in Canada."

"Nope…only fifteen in Canada, five in the US, fifteen back in Italy."

"Wow, your family's like a virus… they're everywhere." Spike jokingly put her in a head lock just as Signora Elisabetta arrived with food and drinks for Team Italia. She barked, "Release that poor woman, at once" in Italian.

She learned a lot about Spike that day, and had a preview of what she might expect when they get to Italy for a holiday. Spike has asked her to accompany him home as his_ wingman_, "Keep all my aunts from wondering why I'm still single."

She replied, flirtingly, with a meaningful wink, "What's in it for me?"

"All the homemade wine you can drink."

"I'm listening," she replied with a concealed sexiness in her voice, her tongue – just slightly – touching her teeth. No one else would have notice but he did. That sexiness only he knew about.

He looked at her with lust in his eyes, and said with a hint of double-meaning, "Oh yeah…."

By five pm, after three hours playing amateur but competitive football, nearly everyone has gone home.

"Would you like to play?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll be the goalie," she said.

Spike ran into the middle of the pitch, he deftly dribbled the ball, passing it between his left and right foot. Even kicked it up in the air and used his shoulders to move it forward. Win watched the ball, conscious that she mustn't let her guard down.

He moved forward, got to within 20 metres, stopped. He ran to the left, stopped, controlled the ball and kicked it to the left. To her surprise, he ran backwards and then just as swiftly turned back to volley the ball high overhead. She tried to punch it back but it found the back of the net, "GGGGOOOOAAALLLLL."

Spike pulled his shirt off the back of his neck, twirled it around above his head, ran to the middle of the pitch and slid down on bended knees. As he imagined it, kissed the ground, then looked up to the sky, arms raised in triumph.

Winnie walked over to him just as the skies opened. Rain bucketed down, first in drizzles and then in torrents. She knelt in front of him, kissed him passionately in the wet drenched to the skin. The rain being the only witness to a love all fired up… played beautifully by an Azurri.

The End - Finito – Until next time


End file.
